


Promised Land

by cosmonaughtt



Series: 🎈2020 🎈 [7]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Face blindness, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kinda, Memory Issues, Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Roman Catholicism, Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepwalking, they're one in the same basically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmonaughtt/pseuds/cosmonaughtt
Summary: Ranboo remembers the days when he would kneel at his bed to pray before the nuns turned out the lights and begged God that he’d be the next kid to go.He was a good kid; he was helpful, he was kind, he was humble, he was everything the nuns raised him to be.But nobody ever wanted him.Not even his own parents.(alternatively; ranboo's the oldest kid at a catholic orphanage. strange run-ins with mysterious people and strange abilities make him question everything he's ever known about the world and of himself. but maybe he'll get a new family out of it.)
Relationships: Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: 🎈2020 🎈 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590310
Comments: 1107
Kudos: 1281
Collections: MCYT Fic Rec, Ranboo Is Best Boi





	1. Here's A List Of All Of My Traumas, By Me

He’s afraid of the rain.

He doesn’t remember _why_ he’s afraid of the rain-- which is, for Ranboo, an unfortunately common thing. He doesn’t remember why he’s afraid of the rain, why it _feels like_ it stings his skin as he runs quickly in the pouring rain to the nearest shelter, to wait out the rain. He doesn’t remember why he stares out at it unblinking, his mind going numb and feeling like the static electricity that comes off the old TV in the basement of the orphanage that they use to watch old VHS movies on it when the Sisters are asleep.

But Ranboo is afraid of the rain, even though he can’t help but watch it trail down his bedroom window as the dull light of his desk lamp illuminates the room just enough for him to read.

It’s not an interesting book. The Sisters keep an eye on everything that they have, always, constantly-- most of Ranboo’s clothes are tailored hand-me-downs from men that the Sisters know in their life, because once puberty hit Ranboo’s limbs went through a taffy pulling machine and stretched out longer than he had expected, and he stood at a good, awkward, awful 6’6” tall.

But it’s not an interesting book. He would have much preferred to check out _The Golden Compass_ or _Howl’s Moving Castle,_ but those were books he would bury his nose in and read parts of in the library during his weekend trip, remembering the page numbers he left off on when the nuns decided it was time to round up all the children and get them back to the orphanage; instead, it’s a book that the nuns had suggested to him, about the life of a saint that Ranboo didn’t care much about at all.

He’s old enough to be confirmed in the church now, and even though he knows the nuns aren’t going to _force him_ to go through it, they push him towards it with gentle nudges, giving him suggestions of books of saints that they think will entice him enough to go through with it.

But Ranboo doesn’t… He doesn’t know.

He’s the oldest kid at the orphanage; everyone else is five or six or, at most, eight, other than him, no one has ever wanted to adopt _him._ He’s the awkward helper with the younger kids, he’s known how to change a diaper since he was eleven, he’s helped with the Sisters’ church lessons with the younger kids since he was twelve, most adults who come to the orphanage think that Ranboo is just a volunteer, not a child looking to find a home himself.

He’s been at the orphanage since he was four and left outside of it during a rainstorm. Maybe that’s where his fear of rain comes from-- maybe his parents abandoned him here. Wouldn’t that be another cruel addition to his life?

Ranboo tries to focus on the book in front of him, but it’s written so blandly. The Sisters think he is pious just like them, don’t they? He knows all the prayers by heart, not because he is devoted to the religion but because it’s the only thing he’s been raised with. 

_Is it bad to question your faith?_

Ranboo has been having a lot of those thoughts lately.

_Is it bad to question everything you’ve ever known?_

He flicks off the desk lamp and sits in the darkness for a moment. His fingers interlace in the same way that he’s been taught to pray, but he just rests them in his lap as he leans back in the old desk chair and looks up at the ceiling.

His room is quiet. He hears a few quick loud footsteps down the hall; a few boys, roughhousing at night. He’s old enough to get his own room, which is nice because he doesn’t have to share with anyone, but it feels lonely to not have others sleeping in a bed not too far from his.

The younger kids are full of energy tonight. Someone was adopted the day before; usually, adoptions come in waves, and they’re all hoping and praying to the Lord that they’ll be next.

Ranboo remembers the days when he would kneel at his bed to pray before the nuns turned out the lights and begged God that he’d be the next kid to go.

He was a good kid; he was helpful, he was kind, he was humble, he was everything the nuns raised him to be. 

But nobody ever wanted him.

_Not even his own parents._

A curt knock on the door interrupts his thoughts, and Sister Anne pokes her head in. She’s the youngest of the nuns, but still, pretty old. Wrinkles circle her face gracefully.

She opens the door and sees him sitting at his desk in the dark which, is, admittedly, a little odd. “Ah, sorry-- were you in the middle of prayer?”

Ranboo forces a smile, forces a nervous laugh. “No, just-- just ended. You’re okay.”

Sister Anne nods. She leans against the doorframe, opening the old wooden door a little more to fit in. She’s one of the sisters who respects Ranboo’s space, and would probably let him check out a copy of _1984_ or anything by Edgar Allan Poe if he wanted to. Her lack of seniority prevented her from doing such, unfortunately.

“Right, well. Just got the little ones to bed, and wanted to say goodnight.” She has some sort of accent. Ranboo has asked multiple times, but his poor memory-- his poor, absolutely awful memory, paired with everything else he has-- prevents him from remembering where she’s told him she’s from multiple times. “Sleep well, Ranboo.”

“You too, Sister.” He forces the smile out again, and Sister Anne nods, shutting the door behind her.

The echoing sound of a lock clicking into place sinks his heart. 

He doesn’t want to flick his light back on and continue reading the book and wondering what Sister Marie wanted him to figure out from it when she recommended it to him; he didn’t want to dig out his journal from under his pillow because today wasn’t that eventful, today nothing happened, nothing was worth remembering from the day.

(These are the days he remembers too well, he finds-- days where nothing seems to happen. Days that tend to loop. Maybe the routine helps him remember. He doesn’t know.)

The echoing of the locked door still rings out in mind, and he stands up and walks over to his bed, before flopping down onto it and wincing at the sound the old springs in the mattress make. 

He looks back up at the ceiling. 

He’s going to be stuck in this orphanage until he ages out, isn’t he?

* * *

The next morning, the storm passed. At some point in the middle of the night, according to the little boys in the room next to him, the power went out. They only noticed it because their alarm clock’s time had gotten frozen at 3:00 A.M. on the dot.

For some reason they found it funny. Ranboo doesn’t understand kids that well.

The kitchen is as chaotic as it ever is; even though a good ten-or-so odd kids live in the old converted church orphanage, the only people who work on the lands are the Sisters, an absent social worker, and a gardener. Everything is taken care of by the four nuns, including breakfast.

Which, this morning, is pancakes.

“Ranboo, can you get the formula out from the fridge for me?” Sister Anne greets him with a smile, and a baby on her hip. He nods, and awkwardly shuffles around two girls who are debating over whether three or four pancakes make the best stack of pancakes.

He’s able to reach up and hit the top shelves quite easily, with the way puberty hit him like a truck. The orphanage doesn’t tend to have babies that stay long, but they usually have at least one or two under the care of the nursery. 

He grabs one of the bottles, too, and pours it in before tightening the cap to give to Sister Anne. She hands it to the baby on her hips, one with curly hair named Helena.

Ranboo remembers when she was dropped off-- it was a cliche, left-on-the-doorstep-in-a-basket story, the only thing to her name was a yellow blanket and the letters “HEL”, so the nuns called her Helena. 

“Thank you so much, Ranboo. You’re such a good kid.” Sister Anne smiles at him. It helps that the nuns all wear the same habit, easy to identify them in public. They’re all different heights, too, drastically-- Sister Anne is the shortest. She has the accent Ranboo can never place, and the wrinkles that are more graceful and pleasant than the other nuns.

“T-Thank you, Sister.” He flusters under the compliment. 

It’s Sister Joan that enters the kitchen next. Sister Anne is taking care of baby Helena and a toddler, and Sister Marie is trying to organize a line for the kids to get breakfast. Ranboo simply grabs a few pancakes on his own, weaving in front of the other kids.

The other kids don’t seem to complain much, because he _is_ the oldest. And he helps them with the coursework that sister Joan assigns, and _was_ the one they would go to if they woke up with a nightmare.

 _Was_ the one, until the nuns had to start locking him in his room.

“Good morning, children.” Sister Joan’s presence alone quiets all the kids except the baby and the toddler, who coo under Sister Anne’s attention. “It’s Saturday, which means it’s cleaning day.”

The kids groan. Ranboo doesn’t mind cleaning that much. Sister Joan pulls out her list. 

“David, Christian-- you’re helping the gardener today.” The two boys who had been talking about the power outage give each other high-fives. “Make sure to remember your _boots_ , it’s quite muddy out from the night before. Sarah, Elizabeth, Allison, you’re helping Sister Anne in the nursery today...”

Sister Joan continues to dish out chores for the day. Deep-cleaning the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the entrance. Some organization to the classroom, the single room that is also the chapel that is really only decorated with more educational books, a few desks that can easily be pulled around the room, and a chalkboard on wheels.

“And Ranboo.” Sister Joan’s glance falls upon him. She’s easy to recognize, with her fairer complexion and thick glasses and mole on her chin. “Today, you’re going to be coming with me to the store.”

A few kids laugh, but Ranboo lets out a sigh of relief. Going shopping with the sisters was probably the easiest chore. He would usually get cleaning the classroom, but maybe God had mercy on him and decided that he would be allowed to go somewhere that wasn’t the town’s local library or the park with the other kids, for once.

The idea of interacting with other people in a place like the grocery store is-- it’s scary, to Ranboo. But it’s a welcome change.

He’s glad he took a shower the night before, because Sister Joan dismisses everyone to their chores immediately after the dishes are rinsed and put in the old dishwasher to clean, and leaves the room, expecting Ranboo to follow her.

Which he does. He knows what it’s like to be on the bad side of the nuns, especially Sister Joan, so he doesn’t waste any time following after her.

* * *

The car ride to the grocery store is quiet, other than the hymns playing through the old cassette player. The nuns never buy anything for themselves; most of what they own personally are gifts from other people; vehicles included.

Ranboo doesn’t know cars, but he at least knows that the car is some sort of mini-van. 

Once they get to the store, Sister Joan hands him the re-usable bags to carry and pulls out a notepad with a list of groceries on it. The weekly grocery trip takes the nuns up to hours to complete; especially if any of the younger kids go with them. Half of the trip is then taken up by wrangling kids.

Maybe Sister Joan just needed a break and that’s why she asked Ranboo to come.

“Alright, Ranboo.” Sister Joan’s voice is a little less piercing when there aren’t nine other kids and two babies to speak over, but it’s still powerful. “There are a lot of things on the list to get, but most of them I can get myself.” 

Oh. 

“Then, um, why--”

“--Why did I ask you to come?” Sister Joan interrupts as they enter the building. The carts are right next to the entrance, and Sister Joan makes sure to grab one of the bigger ones “You’re almost an adult. You’re better to deal with than the younger ones. Plus, if you wander off, I don’t have to go hunting for you for two hours and find you burying another in the frozen meat section.”

Ranboo remembers that. David and Christian had to scrub the floor for two weeks after that and had extensively long talks with Father Patrick on that Sunday.

“Aren’t you--”

“Worried about your face blindness?” She’s quick to answer questions, as she usually is. “No. You’ve never had a problem identifying any of us. Not to mention, we’re always in our habits, so you just need to look for a nun and you’ll find me. The odds of running into another nun on a Saturday morning at this grocery store are slim to none.”

“Ah. Okay.” They’ve already walked into the store, and Sister Joan directs the cart over to the produce section. She picks up a watermelon curiously.

“Go find something to buy for yourself.” Sister Joan says, but not in a nice way. More of a _get-out-of-my-way-please_ kind of way. “Not to expensive, not too much sugar.”

“Y-yes ma’am!”

And just like that, Ranboo wanders away from his caregiver in a grocery store that he doesn’t know the layout in, and where he will most likely get lost in and forget his way out, with strangers around him that have unrecognizable faces.

The store is playing an unrecognizable tune, but it’s bright and colorful and Ranboo nods along with it, not hearing much of the words. He wanders through the produce section, looking at all the fruit they have available.

Sister Joan is most definitely expecting him to find something that he can either eat quickly on the ride back, or store safely out of the reach of the other children, and fruit isn’t that easy to store, so he wanders into the other aisles.

It’s quiet for a Saturday morning. Summer is just around the corner-- not that it matters much for the orphanage, since lessons are mostly year-round and only stop during Lent and Advent-- and bright, beach-themed decorations decorate the store alongside the locally grown food on display. 

Everything is bright and colorful, and Ranboo can’t help but be distracted by the flowers on display at one corner in the store. It’s nothing like what he’s seen Gardener Lou do with the plants and herbs and vegetables in the yard, but the flowers smell pretty and look pretty.

 _Even though it’s not food, maybe I could get a few to decorate my room?_ He knows the odds of him being adopted in the next few days are absolutely zero, and a little more life into the dusty office-turned-bedroom would make at least a week or two more liveable, until the flowers withered. When they die, he can press them in the pages of his journal. 

That would be nice--

“Anything catch your eye?” A voice catches him off-guard, and he jumps. He turns around, and sees a woman behind him. Her hair stands out the most, blonde but half-dyed pink. 

“Ah, no, I was just-- looking.” 

“You’re free to look, too.” She smiles. The nametag on her apron says _Niki._

He’s never seen anyone with pink hair before. His own hair is dark, with a few strands turning gray, adding on top of the awful mess that God has placed on his shoulders. 

“The Dahlias and Zinnias are really in bloom now, and the colors are great this time of year. We’re also getting in a few sunflowers later next week, if you’re looking for anything bigger.” She explains, pushing some of the dyed-pink hair out of her way.

“Oh, no I can’t get anything that big.” Sunflowers would be too big for his room, even though they are a nice flower.

“Are you thinking of a special someone?” She gives him a look that flusters him immediately. 

“Ah, no-- no, I don’t. Um. Have anybody. Like that. It’d be for my room, if anything.” He tries to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“I’m just teasing.” She laughs. “Well, if you’re looking for something for your room, we have some Amaryllis and Lillies. The store next door has more house plants, if that’s what you’re looking for.” She adds, ducking behind the counter that was hidden behind all the display and grabbing a few flowers Ranboo couldn’t recognize.

“Really? Uh, thank you.” _Maybe if I ask nicely, Sister Joan will let me get one instead of some food._

“It’s no problem!” She gives him a thumbs-up. “If you need any advice for flowers or plants, just let me know.”

“Thank you, Niki.” Niki blanks for a moment at Ranboo’s response, before her fingers brush against the nametag on her apron and she seems to remember.

“Anyway, you can get back to browsing. Have a nice day!” She waves, before going to collect a few other flowers to put in a bouquet as Ranboo glances at some of the other flowers and plants on display.

He grabs the small pot that’s labeled Amaryllis. Hopefully Sister Joan will say yes to it, but he decides it might be better to browse some of the aisles to find her or find an alternative thing to get.

* * *

The breakfast aisle has the only other people Ranboo has encountered the whole grocery trip. It seems to be another family-- a dad, by the looks of it, and two sons. One has brown curly hair tucked neatly into a beanie, and the other one is blond and wears a bright red shirt. The father wears mostly green, and has hair long enough to be pulled back in a low pony-tail.

Ranboo can’t help but feel two things upon seeing them. One, a twinge of jealousy, a _family_ , a parent who loves you and wouldn’t leave you on the steps of an orphanage, that he quickly buries down because he reminds himself to be thankful for the roof over his head and the sisters that take care of him.

The other is something he can’t place. Admiration? One of his own hands goes up to his hair. He’s never had his hair any longer or cut any different than what he’s had his whole life, but the long hair on the dad looked… It looked _cool._ He wished the nuns would let him grow his hair out, but when it gets too shaggy it’s to the backyard with the other boys for a haircut with the gardener Lou.

He isn’t too bad with scissors, at least. Maybe, in another time, Lou would be a hairdresser.

Ranboo nervously looks at the cereal and pretends to be more interested in it as if he was caught staring. Which. He wasn’t caught staring. But it’s rude to stare, so he turns to brightly-colored cartoons on the boxes of cereal too sugary to buy.

“ _Phillll_ , Wilbur’s making fun of me again!” 

“What’d he do?”

“All I did was get something off the shelf that he couldn’t reach, and he got upset at me for helping him!”

“I could’ve fucking reached it--”

Oh. Ranboo flinches at the curse. Right. Some people just. Talk like that. He looks even more intensely at the box of cereal with a cartoon rabbit on it. He wonders what it tastes like.

“You were standing on the bottom of the shelf! You could’ve brought the whole damn thing down with you!”

“I am very careful and strong and adept and that wouldn’t have happened!” The younger boy says. Ranboo doesn’t need to look (or recognize a face to begin with) to know the looks the younger boy was getting was incredulous. “See, look, I’ll do it right now!”

“Tommy, no--” The pleas from his father fell on deaf ears, and Ranboo noticed out of the corner of his eye as the boy grabbed onto the edge of the shelves and scaled it up to grab something on the top shelf.

“You’re impossible.”

“But I didn’t knock anything down, did I?”

“Well, you haven’t come down yet.” The dad-- Phil, was it?-- looked around in the aisle, and his eyes fell upon Ranboo.

Oh, _now_ he got caught watching. His face flushed immediately, and he nods awkwardly to the family before turning on his heel and walking away.

 _That entire situation could’ve been dealt with better,_ a mean voice in the back of his head croons at him. He ignores it, and goes into the next aisle, holding the plant close to his chest.

“What the fuck was up with that kid?” Ranboo can hear the conversation still, on the other side. It makes sense, since the shelves weren’t too high (he could easily reach the top shelf, but he was also freakishly tall, which didn’t help) and were probably not that thick.

“I dunno, but you really scared him, Phil.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to.” A sigh. “Didn’t even send anything his way… Alright, Tommy, come on down. You’re in the clear.”

 _In the clear?_ _Send my way?_ Ranboo wonders. He doesn’t hear a crash or anything on the other side, which means the blond boy-- Tommy-- must get down safely. But he doesn’t hear any shuffling on the shelf, either.

Which is weird. 

He doesn’t focus on it too long, because Sister Joan comes into the aisle from another direction and notices him immediately. The cart is really full. She pushes it forward to meet up with him, and stops when she notices the potted plant he’s holding.

“Is that what you want to get, Ranboo?” She asks.

“I-If that’s okay with you.”

There’s something about the emotion Sister Joan gives off. He can’t tell what it is. It’s a positive emotion-- a spark, perhaps? “Yes, it is. I’m sure Lou has a small mister or watering can around that you can borrow for it. Nice to buy something other than knockoff candy, for once.” 

That was good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me before: i will Never write fanfic about real people, that's WEIRD  
> me in 2021: alright here we go
> 
> why is it that the first thing i can write after intense writer's block is fanfiction about BLOCK PEOPLE im gonna scream  
> anyway. i got into minecraft over winter break and i haven't looked back, here's a contribution to the fandom??   
> all these characters r based on characters they play in the stream not the actual people, btw. 
> 
> i only watch ranboo streams and read fanfic so sorry if anyone is ooc.
> 
> no romance is planned but if any creators get uncomfy with this i'll take it down! 
> 
> kinda inspired by "oh, we can be heroes" but i'm adding my own religious trauma and making ranboo the main character AS HE DESERVES.


	2. Are People Really This Weird, Or Am I The Odd One Out?

The amaryllis hasn't died yet. Ranboo doesn’t know what to call it other than a miracle of God that he hasn’t managed to kill it by accident, but it shows no sign of withering whatsoever.

It’s been a month. David, Allison and Sarah had all been adopted by good families, but a small girl named Charlie was brought to the orphanage by their absent social worker from the state. He never stays too long when he brings kids, unless Sister Anne is around and he tries to flirt with her.

It never works. But it’s amusing to watch, at least.

Summer has officially started. Even though classes don’t  _ end,  _ the Sisters give them longer breaks after studying and learning. Gardener Lou finds the old plastic pool and fills it up with water on hot days, and the younger kids gleefully splash around in it and enjoy snacks of watermelon and strawberries and blueberries from the garden.

Ranboo doesn’t join them. He spends most of his free time by himself. 

It’s hard to relate to the kids-- he’s a  _ teenager-almost-adult,  _ the second-oldest is Christian, who is eight, but still has a cute baby face that could trick any family into thinking he’s an angel when he’s far from it.

Charlie is one of the kids he can relate to the most. She’s smaller than the other girls, despite being the new oldest kid at nine years old, and her ginger hair is tied off in nice braids that the nuns do. She doesn’t wear shoes, doesn’t talk, and stays away from the other kids, her face buried in a book or something else to keep her occupied.

The nuns didn’t say anything about Charlie when she was introduced to the kids. But Sister Anne did drop it a few times to Ranboo that  _ poor dear, lost all her family, no one else to go to,  _ and he can put the puzzle pieces together on his own. 

Still, Ranboo is on lifeguard duty with the kids one bright sunny day, as the Sisters have to deal with another family coming to adopt, and Charlie sits with him under the patio umbrella with a coloring book.

She’s scribbled out the faces of the family on one page with black crayon. The little girl in-between the family has orange colored hair.

...Yeah, he didn’t want to unpack  _ all  _ of that, so he turned back to the small kiddie pool, keeping his eye out, making sure no one drowns while also keeping a few eyes down on his own book. It’s about some dystopian world, but the nuns saw it was catholic and let him borrow it from the library, so it’s a little more entertaining than the saint books he’s been getting pushed towards.

It’s still awfully boring, compared to other books. He was on page seventy-two of  _ The Hunger Games _ at the library, and his mind keeps wandering back to it.  _ What will happen to Katniss? What is up with the world they’re in? _

“Ranboo!” Christian cries out, and his head shoots up at the sound of his name. Charlie flinches, too, but she doesn’t move. “Elizabeth stole the water gun!”

“Whatever happened to  _ sharing is caring _ , Christian?” Elizabeth bites back. The pool toys are old and probably have collected a little bit of mold, but that doesn’t stop the kids from shooting each other with water. He’s amazed that the nuns let the kids play with something like a water gun when other toys in the playroom are not related to weapons. “You’ve had it for like, ten minutes already, it’s  _ my _ turn!”

“You stole it!”

“No I didn’t!” Elizabeth aims the water gun and shoots it at Christian’s face. He screams.

Ranboo isn’t getting paid enough to deal with the younger kids-- scratch that, he doesn’t get paid at all. He buries the library book under a pile of towels to keep it from getting wet and walks over to the kiddie pool to deal with the unnecessary drama.

“Elizabeth.” He says, though he can’t focus on her other than the braids. All the nuns braid the girls hair, making it harder to keep them apart. “Wait. No, sorry, Isabel.” He turns to the right Elizabeth. “Elizabeth. Did you take it from Christian’s hands?”

Elizabeth nods. “But he’s had it for like, ten minutes! It’s my turn!”

“Did you  _ ask _ before you took it?”

“Yeah!”

“No you didn’t!” Christian interrupts. “You just took it from my hands!”

“... Okay, I lied.”

Ranboo pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Christian, if she asked, would you have shared it?”

“Yeah,  _ duh. _ ” Christian replies. “We could’ve teamed up to take on Danny.”

Danny, one of the younger boys, turns his head around at the sound of his name. He’s got a snorkel and is just floating in the water like a dead man. Ranboo has had to call his name every now and then to make sure he  _ isn’t  _ dead. 

Elizabeth sighs, and hands the water gun back to Christian. “Sorry, I should’ve asked. Can I have a turn now?”

Christian’s sour face brightens. “Yeah you can! You’re a better aim, after all.”

Petty drama between kids is amazing Ranboo, but it seems to be solved, so he turns around to walk back to the patio when water hits  _ his _ back instead. He turns  _ back _ around, and notices Christian and Elizabeth giggling to themselves with the water gun pointed directly at his back. 

He wasn’t even in any swimming clothes. The nuns said they would go out and buy him a pair of actual swim trunks when the next Saturday comes and they go out shopping, but it was a boring old Tuesday and he would have to be patient and wait for it. His t-shirt was soaked now, but he couldn’t go in and change out of it so he would be stuck with a wet shirt for now on.

_ God, please, help me hold my tongue against these kids and give me patience to deal with them,  _ he thinks. It’s a prayer, but it’s a thought-prayer. 

Does it count?

He doesn’t know.

* * *

It surprises him, one day, when Sister Anne stops him at the park. It’s a weekly thing; after Mass on Sundays, the sisters take everyone to the playground not too far from the church to get out the pent-up energy from sitting so still and quiet for an hour. It’s a nice way to spend the afternoon, and they make sure to let the kids change out of church clothes beforehand.

“Ranboo, there you are.” Her voice is soothing. He’s sitting on a bench, not too far from the playground, writing down what he remembers about Father Patrick’s sermon. Something about-- how Saint Paul traveled across to spread the message of God-- something something, he’s trying to remember.

“Am I in trouble?”

“You’re never in trouble.” Sister Anne laughs, as if it’s an inside joke, but Ranboo doesn’t get it. She clears her throat. “Actually, I wanted to tell you something. The other sisters and I have been talking, and… Well, we’ve been saving a little extra money up to get you this.”

She reaches into her bag, which is usually where baby formula and snacks are stored, but she pulls something else out instead. It’s a small box. 

“You’ve been at the orphanage for years. We don’t know when your birthday is, but it’s the anniversary of the day you came here. Which is close enough, I hope.”

He takes the small box from her. It’s wrapped in leftover Christmas paper. The nuns don’t let have kids have much, but a toy or a new book or a new bible or a new rosary for Christmas every year is a tradition, but presents outside of that? He’s never heard of them doing anything like that.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” He says, slowly unwrapping the paper and opening the box. His eyes widen. “You didn’t have to get me  _ this.” _

It’s a cellphone. Not one of the newer brands that Ranboo sees advertised all over the television and in ads placed sporadically around town. But it’s decent, and it’s a touch screen, and it doesn’t look  _ too _ bad.

“Well, you’re a teenager, and all of you kids have technology these days.” Sister Anne laughs again, this one with a hand to cover her giddy smile. “It’s not much, but you have all of our contacts and the number of the home line in it. Sister Marie even downloaded a few songs for you to listen to!” There’s a pair of earbuds in the box as well.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“You’re a good kid, Ranboo.” Sister Anne says. “You deserve so much better than what we can do. I can only pray to God that one day a family will come around for you.”

Ranboo nods. He doesn’t want to say,  _ thank you, but the prayers are worthless.  _ No one would want to adopt a teenager, who has memory problems and sleepwalking issues and can’t recognize faces. No one would willingly adopt a child with problems-- the younger kids are bright and energetic, sans Charlie, who still hasn’t spoken a word yet but no one has forced her to, but even then, she’s young, and maybe with a little more prayer and healing and counseling, she could get better.

But Ranboo?

He doubts it.

“T-thank you.” There are a few tears rolling down his cheeks. He can feel them sting his eyes, and Sister Anne wraps her arms around Ranboo and gives him a warm hug.

She’s the closest that Ranboo has ever gotten to a motherly figure, out of all the other caregivers. 

Their small moment is interrupted when she notices something. “Oh, Helena-- get those wood chips out of your mouth!” And she’s off again. 

Ranboo looks at the phone. It’s set up for him already, and he opens it just like he’s seen on the movies that were approved by the nuns to watch. A few christian pop albums are downloaded onto the phone, and he looks for the earphone jack-- there it is-- plugs them in, and plays one of the songs. 

_ You are the peace in my troubled sea, oh oh _

_ You are the peace in my troubled sea _

* * *

He takes his phone everywhere with him. It’s one of the first things other than the flower-- which  _ still _ hasn’t died-- that Ranboo has ever officially owned on his own, except a few stuffed animals as a child (that still line up at the end of his bed, and he will say he sleeps with them sometimes because they’re  _ comfortable _ , he’s adult enough to admit it) and a good collection of bibles and hand-me-down clothes.

But it’s the first bit of technology he’s ever owned on his own. The internet browser doesn’t work well, and he doesn’t want to think about touching any of the social media apps he hears about, and doesn’t bother to download games or the kids would just ask to play them constantly, but he does listen to music a lot.

And go on walks.

It was a spur of the moment thing. Since he’s older than everyone else, he gets his studies done quietly, in his room, only asking for help from the nuns occasionally. And when he gets his work done quickly, there isn’t much to do.

So he asked if he could go on a walk. Not too far. But they said  _ yes, _ and even gave him a ten-dollar bill in case he needed to get water or a snack. Not to go past the park by the church, but there were a few stores in-between that he could stop at.

The new freedom was strange. He didn’t go further than the church, only looping around with  _ Joy _ or  _ Burn Like A Star _ playing in his earbuds, but it was good exercise. It got him moving. 

It got him out of the orphanage, and that was  _ nice. _

He didn’t run into people often, at least. Part of him was thankful, because not being able to recognize faces and having an awful memory made meeting people much less awkward.

But a small, tiny, part of him wanted to meet other people. To make friends. There were a few kids at church that talked to the  _ orphaned kids,  _ but no one really talked to them. The nuns tried to encourage Ranboo to attend the teen youth groups, but he never felt like he fit in there, and it was always loud. And energetic.

Things Ranboo didn’t feel like he was at all. 

But knowing people outside of the orphanage would be pretty nice, he had to admit. 

On a warm Saturday afternoon, he asked to go on a walk when his chores were done, and they said yes again, since Ranboo was never a trouble-maker, and he just went to the park.

But fate, God, whatever it is that runs the universe, had a specific plan for him that day. Or so he thinks.

The park has a lot more people in it than it does Sunday afternoons after church. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and families are intermingling and laughing and enjoying the nice summer day. Ranboo looks at the families and feels the same twinge of jealousy that he tries to ignore.

But it stays. He stands still, on the edge of the sidewalk leading up to the park, watching the families. Kids pushing siblings on swings. Mothers and fathers making sure that their kids have fun, talking amongst themselves, too. A few kids pile into one swing and a parent takes a photo.

A normal life. Is that what it’s like?  _ To be happy, to have fun-- _

It’s a shame he doesn’t notice the two kids on skateboards rolling towards them until one of them knocks into Ranboo and they both get knocked to the ground. The sidewalk stings his arms a bit, but his phone and everything is fine, at least.

“Oh shi-- I’m so sorry!” A hand reaches out to him. He’s wearing a green t-shirt, and has chocolate brown hair, but he doesn’t stand out too much. His accent is peculiar, though. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah I’m-- I’m fine!” Ranboo squeaks out. He hesitates, before taking the arm. The other boy helps him up, and he feels a little awkward at the height distance.

The other boy is laughing, not moving to help them in either way. He’s blond, has a red t-shirt. Strangely familiar, but Ranboo can’t place it. “Holy  _ shit,  _ Tubbo, how did you not see him? He’s a giant!”

“I wasn’t looking!”

“You’re supposed to look forward on the board, idiot!” The other boy jumps off his skateboard and picks it up. “Hey, you look familiar.”

“Do I?” Ranboo wishes he could recognize faces. Maybe then he’d remember where this other kid is from.

“You probably just know him from school, Tommy.” The other boy, Tubbo, comments, picking up his own board. “What grade are you?”

“I’m. Um. Homeschooled.” Ranboo says, nervously wrapping his fingers up in the cord of his earbuds, to distract him.

“Well then that doesn’t help much, does it?” The blond boy-- Tommy-- gets closer to him. Squints his eyes. Scratches his chin. 

“Um.”

“Tommy, I reckon you’re in his personal space.” Tubbo says, grabbing the blond by the shoulder, pulling him back. 

“That’s it!”  _ What?  _ “Grocery store boy a few weeks ago!” 

Ranboo blinks, and then it all comes back to him. Oh, the family in the grocery store-- was it the same Tommy? The blond hair seemed the same, and so did the voice. 

“Yeah, you saw me scale up the shelves, huh? I looked pretty pog doing it, right?”

“Um. Yeah?” Alright, this was getting weirder.  _ Pog? What does that mean? Is it a bad word? _

Tubbo looked incredulous at the antics of his friend, turning to Ranboo. “What’s your name? That’s Tommy, and you can call me Tubbo.”

“I’m, uh. Ranboo.”

“What kind of name is uh, Ranboo?” Tommy jests, and Tubbo elbows him in the side. “Ay, what the fuck?”

“Would it kill ya to be a little nicer, Tommy?”

Alright. Ranboo needed to go. His heart was picking up pace a bit and his hands were getting a little sweaty.  _ God, please, help.  _

“Fine.  _ Sorry. _ ” Tommy said. “So, how come you’re homeschooled? Too smart for us regular folk?”

“Tommy, what kind of question is  _ that _ ?!” Tubbo sighed, before looking up at Ranboo. “He has no filter, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I don’t have a filter cause I ate it when I was a baby!”

“You ate a coffee filter  _ once,  _ and you were  _ four.” _ Another voice joins the fray as another boy walks by. Curly hair, beanie… It’s Tommy’s brother. But Ranboo can’t remember his name. “He isn’t causing any problems, is he, Tubbo?”

“Just dumb questions.” Tubbo clarifies. “Oh, shoot, Ranboo-- your arm is bleeding.”

_ Huh?  _ He glances at his arm, and where it hit the pavement, it is bleeding. Not a little bit, but not too much. It wasn’t painful, he didn’t even notice it, but it was a good sidewalk burn. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually got hurt enough to bleed like this.

“Ouch, how’d that happen?” Tommy’s brother leaned down, looking closer at it.

“Tubbo hit him when he was skateboarding. It was actually pretty funny--” Tommy gets drowned out by the other two, at least.

Ranboo glanced at Tubbo. He’d been lucky to get away without a scratch, it seemed, he must’ve been the smaller boy’s cushion upon impact. 

“I have a first-aid kit in my car. Want me to fix that up for you?” Tommy’s brother asks.

Ranboo wishes he said no, but he ends up following a stranger to their car anyway.

* * *

When he thought of a first aid kid that the older brother-- Wilbur, he learns on the way from Tommy-- would have, he imagined something small. Maybe some alcohol, a few bandaids, but they get to the car and Wilbur opens the trunk and there’s a giant chest of medical supplies.

Oh, Ranboo should definitely just turn around and start running. Who keeps a  _ chest _ of medical supplies in their car?

Wilbur notices his hesitation immediately, as if he was reading his mind. Which would be impossible, but maybe Ranboo is just really easy to read. “It’s a little overkill, but you won’t believe the trouble Tommy and Tubbo get into.”

“I take total offense to that.” Tommy says. He and Tubbo are back a bit in the parking lot, trying to do a trick with the skateboard.

“He’s right,” Tubbo adds.

The alcohol stings just a little bit, but not too bad, and the cut isn’t that big on his arm. It only needs one bandaid, and given the choice between dinosaurs and plain, Ranboo obviously has to go with the colorful dinosaur band aid. 

“Oh, um. Thank you.”

“It’s no issue.” Wilbur replied, as they stood back so that they could shut the trunk of the small car. It was a nice shade of yellow, not the sickly color of the boy’s bathroom but a warmer shade more like the sun right before sunset. “So, are you new to town then, Ranboo?”

“No. I’ve lived here my whole life.” Or, as long as he could remember. Well, he couldn’t remember much, without his journal. But the euphemism still applies. 

“Oh. Haven’t seen you around much, then.” Wilbur adds.

“He’s homeschooled.” Tommy pronounces every single letter of  _ homeschooled _ incorrectly, somehow, and Ranboo is amazed at the noise it makes. 

“That explains it.” 

The mention of homeschool reminds him to check the time. He should start heading back home soon, shouldn’t he? He pulls out his phone and glances at the time.

He’s still good on time.  _ Phew.  _ But he should probably start heading back soon, or the Sisters will start to worry, and he’ll never be allowed to go on a walk ever again. 

They might…

No, they wouldn’t bring Sister Agnes into it.

“I gotta go. This was, um. Interesting. It was nice to meet you.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Ranboo!” Tubbo says, and pauses. “Hey, wait, what’s your phone number? We should hang out sometime, you seem really cool.”

Ranboo’s mind immediately blanks at the interaction. He knew what was happening, but he also didn’t know what was happening at the same time. Could he even give his phone number out to people he just met? Would the sisters get mad? 

Tubbo and Tommy had already pulled their phones out, and Ranboo gave in and they exchanged numbers. It was weird-- very weird. He’s never had friends before. And he just ran into these two boys his age who wanted to be his friends? Just like that?

If making friends was that easy, why hadn’t he tried before? Why had previous times failed so bad? 

The exchange made him nervous at first, but hopefully the nuns wouldn’t mind. It would be good for him, right? To have friends? He’s on his own at the orphanage, it would be good to know more people his own age. 

He puts his earbuds back in when he’s on the other side of the park, and hits shuffle on his music.  _ Create in Me  _ starts to play. 

_ Thank you, God,  _ he sends a quick prayer up. 

He wonders how God gets the prayers. Do they go up in little envelopes, and does he pick through them individually? How would that work with time? Time doesn’t work in heaven. Does he have interns to look through the prayers?

… Does God even get his prayers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi y'all i got a twitter i wont post much there but it exists [twitter.com/cosmonaughtt](https://twitter.com/cosmonaughtt)
> 
> listening to christian bops at 1am on valentines day was really a weird vibe idk if i'd do it again but it got me in the writing mood
> 
> Was gonna save this chapter for the future but I am enjoying this story right now and I thought hey let's just upload twice in a day ahaha ~
> 
> anyway I feel bad if anyone is ooc (again they're based on characters played in the DreamSMP not the actual ccs--) but "you ate a coffee filter when you were four" is such a great line i die every time I think about it dfsasaf
> 
> Anyway this chapter is a little dialogue-heavy but I'm still happy with how it turned out. See u whenever I finish the next chapter ;D


	3. Oh, No, This Family is Actually Insane. How Did I Get Roped Up In This Again?

Whenever Sister Agnes has to get involved, Ranboo knows that only God’s mercy can save them.

The fourth, the eldest, and the one in charge of everything, Sister Agnes doesn’t get much involved with the actual caretaking as she does with legal paperwork and financing and actually taking care of the building, so when something happens with the children and Sister Agnes gets involved, everyone stands with their hands behind their backs and tries to not move.

Even at his age, Ranboo hides his hands. Even though he’s only been in big enough trouble once to get Sister Agnes involved, he hides his hands. 

He can still feel the sting from the ruler.

Ranboo keeps his eyes down and focused on his book as she enters. Even though it’s still summer, the air conditioning keeps the building cold enough to need a sweater, and he wraps the ends of the sleeves around his hands.

He tries to not hear what’s happening.

He tries to not hear the sick sound of wood meeting flesh.

He tries to not pay attention to anything except his own book.

Charlie is at his side. She’s quiet as ever, but watches with wide eyes. He wants to tell her to look away, but it’s her first time seeing Sister Agnes, and hopefully, she won’t be on the other side of her wrath.

She flinches at the sound.

As soon as it happens it’s over and Christian goes to his room. His hands are red. They look like they’re bleeding a little bit. 

Ranboo pretends to not see it. 

If he tries to stand up, like-- like last time-- no.

No.

He doesn’t  _ want _ to remember it.

He doesn’t want to remember it.

He’s glad that he doesn’t know what Sister Agnes’ face looks like.

He closes his book and heads back to his bedroom. It’s getting to be lights out soon, anyway. He’s collected a few extra blankets from the playroom to help pad the floor a bit more after the previous night, where he ended up hitting his head pretty hard from sleepwalking.

The browser on his phone is no help with the problem. He doesn’t think praying is helping much, no amount of confession and reconciliation has stopped the issue, but at least the nuns lock the door at night so he can’t hurt himself outside of his room. 

“I will be fine tonight,” He tells himself, as he lays down and closes his eyes. 

* * *

Ranboo wakes up on the floor again, in an awkward position. His head is on the ground, but half of his body is in his desk chair. He doesn’t remember waking up, or getting out of bed. There’s a little bruise on his head, but nothing else hurts.

He’s just in an awkward position.

_ I must’ve just got up and sat at my desk, then,  _ he thinks, pulling his legs off the chair slowly and pushing himself up. There was a decent amount of blanket around where he woke up, he used a few to pad the corners of his desk and side-table and dresser.

He must’ve brough the blanket on his desk down with him.

His flower, Amy the amaryllis still stands strong. She’s the closest Ranboo will get to a pet in a while, so he named her and keeps her close to the sun, and she’s even grown a bit, too. She’s a lucky plant.

A jingling of keys at the door tells Ranboo that it’s unlocked for him now, and that one of the sisters is up and about to let him out. The morning sun is barely peering through the curtains.

Ranboo wishes he could remember what he’s dreaming of when he sleepwalks. It’s confusing. He wraps the extra blanket around himself and lays back down on his bed and stares at the ceiling. 

The internet has been no help. He’s been checking the library, but they don’t have any books on sleepwalking other than intense medical words that Ranboo can’t understand. 

Sister Marie says that it’s some sin keeping him that way.

But he would remember if he sinned bad enough for God to punish him with sleepwalking, right?

Sister Anne says it’s  _ stress _ .

What is there to be stressed about? He’s got a roof over his head. He’s got food on the table. It’s unconventional and he doesn’t have a family, he’s an orphan, and he has to deal with memory problems and prosopagnosia, but he’s still got a decent amount of support from the sisters.

Sister Joan…. Well, she doesn’t care. Sister Agnes is too busy with other stuff to bother with one orphan’s problems. Which is fine. Much better that way, Ranboo decides.

He rolls over and checks his phone. For some reason, there’s a message from Tubbo, despite the fact that it’s six in the morning.

**_TUBBO:_ ** **hey ranboo! tommy and his family r gonna go to the zoo this weekend, wanna come with us?**

**_RANBOO:_ ** **Have you slept yet?**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **it’s summer there’s no need to sleep when you can play minecraft**

**_RANBOO_ ** **: Minecraft? That’s a video game, right?**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **you DON’T KNOW what MINECRAFT IS?**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **WHAT LIFE DO YOU LIVE???????**

Ranboo briefly wonders if he should drop the O-word, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be seen as weird by one of the first people to consider him an actual  _ friend.  _ He doesn’t want to be left behind because he doesn’t have a technical family.

That brings in the problem of the zoo. He’s never been to the zoo before-- the only times that they have ever left the town have been to church events. A funeral. Nothing too exciting, but a zoo sounds exciting.

There are a few more messages asking him about video games and Minecraft, but he ignores them to send a response.

**_RANBOO:_ ** **I’ll ask about the zoo.**

He rolls back over and stares at the ceiling again. It’s a Monday, which means classwork, but if he finishes it early, he could go out on another walk. Maybe see Tommy and Tubbo again. They’ve met up once after their initial meeting.

It was strange. They went to an ice-cream place. It was one of the sweetest things that he’s ever had-- a simple cone with rainbow sprinkles-- and he was craving it a bit more. 

Sister Anne knows that Ranboo made friends.  _ Only _ Sister Anne. He’s not keeping it a secret from the other nuns, he just hasn’t found a way to drop it in conversation naturally, but when he got back that day Sister Anne noticed the dinosaur band-aid and Ranboo recounted an abridged version of the day he’d had.

Except for the large chest of medical supplies. He just said Tubbo had the bandaid in a bag on him. He lied, he felt awful, and that Sunday when they went to church he told Father Patrick, and his penance was only one go around of the rosary next time he was free.

But a zoo trip would be fun.

* * *

“The zoo?” Sister Anne repeats.

It’s early enough that none of the other kids are awake-- no one else is really awake except Sister Anne and the youngest, Helena. The other toddler had been adopted and it was just Helena who needed to be taken care of. She wasn’t even a year old yet, by their best guesses. 

“Yeah, um. Those friends I mentioned asked if I could go with them to the zoo.”

“What day?”

“Saturday. I think.” He sends a quick message to Tubbo to clarify the date. It’s Saturday, which means it won’t get in the way of church.

Sister Anne nods. “Well, I’ll have to talk to Sister Joan and Sister Marie about it, obviously. We don’t want you wandering off and getting kidnapped or taken, do we?”

_ I’m old enough to handle myself,  _ a small voice says in the back of his head, but he bites it down with a spoonful of cereal. It’s bland, but it’ll be better than Sister Joan’s cooking. 

“But I think you’ll be allowed to, as long as you come back before sunset.” Sister Anne smiles, giving Helena another spoonful of baby food. “I’m glad you’ve made friends outside the orphanage, Ranboo.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he only nods.

“I keep thinking we should put you in normal high school, but Sister Agnes would  _ never _ agree to that.”

That pique’s Ranboo’s interest. “...Why not?”

“Oh-- and don’t you tell her this, alright?-- but she thinks that high schools are breeding grounds for sin.” Sister Anne comes the closest to  _ gossip _ that she probably ever will. “I think most of it is her being steeped in tradition as she is, but she’s very stern in her ways. As we all know.”

There was a beat of silence. Ranboo can feel the sting of a ruler on his fingers, and he curls them back.

“But, I think it’s important for us to make friends both inside and outside our faith. It broadens our horizons and makes us fall more in love with God’s greatest creation. Other human beings.” She turns back to Helena, and gives her another airplane of applesauce.

A beat of silence. Ranboo checks his phone again, but Tubbo has gone quiet. Hopefully to sleep.

“I know what’ll  _ definitely  _ convince the others to let you go.” Sister Anne smiles, with a bit of a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Sister Joan will  _ love _ this.”

* * *

Tommy’s laugh is loud and a little bit annoying, but Ranboo would never say that to his face. Tubbo is laughing, too, and Ranboo feels his ears burn a little bit.

“It’s-- it’s not that bad, is it?”

“It’s summer, why the hell are you having to worry about writing an  _ essay?!”  _ Tommy yells.

“I’m homeschooled. We don’t get summer break.” Ranboo explains. He has a different notebook than his journal on hand-- a smaller one. To take notes on. He has the essay prompt saved in his texts from Sister Anne. It was just a small research assignment. Find an animal to research and write about the animal’s natural habitat, and list a few reasons why Saint Francis would find the animal, quote, “neat”. 

The last bit was Sister Anne’s add-on. 

They decided to meet up at the park, the middle ground between Tommy and Tubbo’s neighborhood and the orphanage. Neither of them bothered to ask why Ranboo asked to meet there instead of just getting picked up at his house, which was nice.

He didn’t want to tell them he was an orphan. It was… He’ll  _ say  _ it. No. He’ll think about it. 

It is a little embarrassing.

Plus, he doesn’t want to lose his friends over that. It’s not a lie-- if it is, he’ll go to reconciliation every Sunday if he has to-- it’s just. Hiding the truth. Keeping a secret. 

Friends keep secrets from each other, right? He doesn’t  _ have _ to be an open book to his friends. Even though it might make things a little easier.

Seeing Tommy’s dad again was weird. His hair was still grown out, this time, it was left shaggy and to his chin, and the same feeling of admiration came back at the haircut that he had.

When Ranboo ages out of the orphanage, maybe he’ll grow out his hair like that.

“Ah, Ranboo! Nice to meet you officially.” The man-- Phil-- reaches out a hand.

Ranboo takes it. It’s a very strong hand, and he’s alarmed at first by the force of the handshake.

_ How do I act around someone’s dad???  _ “You, too. Sir.”

“No sirs around here. Just call me Phil.”

“Or  _ Dad _ za!” Tubbo interjects. 

“Or Dadza, I suppose.” 

Ranboo didn’t get it, but he let it slide. 

The car isn’t the yellow car that Wilbur drove around and had the day that they first met, it’s a slightly larger gray one. There’s someone sitting in the passenger seat in the front already.

“Oh, right. Ranboo, this is my other brother.” Tommy said as they climbed into the car.

The man in the front turns around. He has pink hair that goes down to his waist, all braided back, and square glasses resting on his nose. He doesn’t look particularly interested in anything, especially the trip to the zoo.

“Technoblade, Ranboo. Ranboo, Technoblade.”

“Pleasure.” His voice is monotone, and he turns back to the book that he’s reading. Ranboo can’t see the book.

“Oh, you-- you too.”  _ What kind of name is Technoblade?  _ Ranboo can’t help but wonder as the car engine starts.

Tubbo is squashed in the middle seat (unfortunate) between Ranboo and Tommy. He’s used to trying to not take up too much space in a car and tries to lean more towards the side of the car to give Tubbo room.

It was weird. These are people he hasn’t been living with for his whole life, and he was in a car with them going to the zoo. Or they could have lied and tricked him and they could be taking him out to a farm to kill him or make him a Satanist or something. 

“So, Ranboo. You’ve never been to the zoo before?”

“No-- no, I haven’t. It’s just something that my-- my family hasn’t been able to do much.” He tries to not stumble over the word family, but it’s awkward.

Hopefully no one notices.

“Well, don’t worry about paying for anything, I’ll cover it all.”

“A-are you sure?”

“It’s no problem!” Phil gives him a warm smile.

Ranboo feels a little more at ease, but it’s interrupted by Tubbo.

“Do you think we can go to the gardens, too?” His eyes are sparkling with... something. Ranboo’s not sure of the word, but it’s something exciting and positive.

“You just wanna see the bees again, don’t you?” Tommy teases.

“The bees are  _ great! _ They’re the best part!”

“No, the polar bears are the best part! They’re so fierce and strong!” 

This was going to be a long car ride.

* * *

Ranboo thinks that his prosopagnosia isn’t that bad.

Granted, he’s been around most of the same people his whole life. He messes up with the younger kids sometimes, especially when all the boys have the same haircut and all the girls wear their hair in braids, but he can pick up on little things, like Charlie’s ginger hair or Christian’s darker skin tone to recognize them.

The sisters are easy, too, because they all wear the habits and are all at different heights to an almost comical level. Their voices, too, are a dead giveaway.

But it’s harder with Tommy and Tubbo. They walked up to him first, and he recognized their voices, but they don’t really seem to have anything that gives them away quite yet other than their voices. Mr. Phil-- Tommy’s Dad-- is even worse, though his hair stands out a bit more compared to the average person.

He had hoped that he would be able to stay close to Mr. Phil and Tommy and Tubbo and their older brother, Techno. Even though he’d never been around larger crowds and didn’t exactly know how busy a zoo would be on a Saturday during the summer.

_ God, please, please, if you’re listening, please help me, I can’t find anyone. _ He gripped his notepad tighter and stood as still as he possibly could on the edge of a crowd of people.

He couldn’t see anyone’s face.

He hated not being able to see anyone’s face. He could  _ see _ faces, but he couldn’t describe the eyes or a nose of someone, he could tell you their eye color and hair color but that was the extent of it. 

This is why he likes animated movies more than real-life movies. This is why he never should’ve left, this is why he shouldn’t have gotten lost, this is why--

_ Deep breaths.  _ Panicking right now won’t help anything. He leans against the brick wall next to the trash cans he’s found himself at and takes a deep breath.

His phone buzzes.

**_TOMMY:_ ** **ay where u at bruv**

_ What. _

It took a second to translate Tommy into English.

**_RANBOO:_ ** **I don’t know.**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **fuk**

He glances up and looks around for any sign of where he could be near. The nearest pen has a family with a small child looking in, and he glances over the side to see what animal is there.

**_RANBOO:_ ** **I’m by the lions.**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **how tf did u end up there thats like halfway across the zoo**

**_RANBOO:_ ** **I don’t know. Sorry.**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **phil says hes in the cafe over there, look out for him**

Oh, great.  _ He _ has to be the one to look out for a man he’s only met in person like,  _ twice _ , in the middle of the day at a zoo crowded with a decent amount of people.

He twirls the pencil around in his fingers, looking out at the crowd. He can’t recognize anyone. Phil had a-- he had a gray t-shirt on today.

Ranboo can count, like,  _ twenty _ gray t-shirts.

He takes a deep breath. Steps back, back into the wall. There was no way he was going to be able to recognize anyone in this mess. There’s a beat of hesitation, a brief moment of pause, before he gives in and pulls out his phone again.

**_RANBOO:_ ** **Can you tell him to find me?**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **sure. U food?**

**_TOMMY:_ ** ***good**

**_RANBOO:_ ** **I’ll explain later?**

**_TOMMY: ok he sees u_ **

Ranboo glances up, and looks at the crowd in front of him. It takes him a moment, but he spots a man in a gray t-shirt waving at him.  _ At _ him, right? He squints.

He can’t see the man’s face. 

_ God, please, let this be Phil. Don’t let me embarrass myself like this,  _ he prays, and makes his way through the crowd.

God hears his prayers.

“There you are, Ranboo. You good?”

“Yeah I’m-- I’m fine.” He can’t say  _ good to see someone I recognize,  _ because he can’t technically recognize Phil that well yet except for the hair. “Sorry, I’ve just. Never been in a place with so many people.”

“Techno and I went to grab a drink at a cafe, and that’s pretty empty, if you need to take a breather.” Phil offers. Ranboo doesn’t decline. 

The cafe is tropical rainforest themed, and has a few plushies and gifts that one could buy as a memento for the trip. Phil orders Ranboo a soda without caffeine and they sit down at a table with Techno.

“Welcome back, Phil. You missed great stuff.”

Techno still has his nose in the book he was reading earlier.

Ranboo quirks an eyebrow at this, but doesn’t want to be seen as rude for asking aloud,  _ who brings a book to the zoo to read?  _ But if this is Tommy’s brother, Tommy “climb the shelf of a grocery store to get a cereal box”, maybe they’re all just  _ like that.  _ Wilbur did have a whole chest of medical supplies.

It kinda made sense, at the same time.

“Damn, guess I’ll have to ask you what I missed.”

Techno held the book up, and Ranboo was able to get a read of the cover.  _ The Odyssey, Homer.  _

He’d heard of the book and had seen it in the library. 

“Absolutely nothing worthwhile. Don’t even bother.” Techno says, and takes a sip of his coffee. It still looks to be steaming hot, but the man doesn’t flinch. 

Phil only laughs, before turning to Ranboo. “Are you having a good time?”

He nods quickly in response. “Oh, yeah-- It’s interesting.” He’d never thought he would get that close to some of the animals he’d only seen in books. It wasn’t  _ close _ , but it wasn’t exactly far, either. Ranboo keeps his eyes looking down at his drink, and the notebook he brought with him to scribble notes in of animals to write about for his homework.

The zoo had a curious white lion cub that had been pawing around in the exhibit. The birds were interesting, too-- some of them repeated the words that Tommy taunted at them perfectly. He had a lot of options, the only thing that was stopping him was indecision.

He’d figure out what to write about later.

Hopefully.

“That’s good.” 

Ranboo never expected how awkward it would be talking to a friend’s dad. But here he was, sitting in that exact scenario as Tommy and Tubbo try and make their way quickly to the cafe so that they can regroup.

What had his life suddenly become?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got a twitter now. won't use it much but it exists [twitter.com/cosmonaughtt](https://twitter.com/cosmonaughtt)
> 
> ANYWAY yay!! some family dynamics! I haven't been to a zoo in years but it's the first thing that popped into head. Honestly, if it weren't for the pandemic, I would love to go to a zoo. Or anything, really. I'm tired of being locked up so much.
> 
> Of course none of the nuns I write are based on actual people and a few are more of a caricature of nuns based on what I've heard from my family who have all been through Catholic schooling, but it's not all sunshine and rainbows at the orphanage with Ranboo. Who would've thought ;)
> 
> I have up to chapter 5 pre-written. I don't know how I'm churning out these chapters so fast, but I guess when a story needs to be told, it can't be stopped. But just you wait for these future chapters B)
> 
> I'll probably post every couple of days now, when I get writing done. More on the weekends. IDK how long this is gonna be. I write on the seat of my pants. I don't even know the plot y'all.
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :D


	4. Why Do I Ruin Every Good Thing I Get?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **content warning:**
> 
> **\- descriptions of a panic attack; not too graphic it's more metaphorical**

Of course, his pen decides to die out in the middle of him writing. Of course.

It’s not that he doesn’t have any other pens around him. Ranboo has quite the collection of pens formed, of black ballpoint that he does all his classwork in, and writes in his journal in, so another dead one doesn’t mean much to him in the long run.

But it happens in the middle of him writing down the details of the zoo, and he hates how the ink fades out in the middle of one of his words.

It’s a simple  _ thunk _ in the little trash can by his desk and a  _ woosh _ of his desk drawer opening to find another pen. His hands graze one of his older journals, from a few years ago, when he first started to write down his days and thoughts in order to remember things.

His memory issues are getting better. Before he would have no idea of the things that happened the previous day. The nuns were wearing thin on patience when Sister Marie handed him a composition notebook to write down all his thoughts in so hopefully he’d remember when he promised to read a kid a book or when he promised to help someone make dinner.

It was much better than it used to be, but it also wasn’t.

He sighs, finishing the sentence he was writing before shutting his current journal. It lays comfortably under his pillow when he’s done. Not out of a shame of hiding from any of the Sisters, or because he doesn’t want them to know. They never look through his journal because it’s mostly  _ boring _ , in Sister Anne’s words.

It was a habit for when he still lived in a room with other boys. They would find it and read it and laugh at him. Even if it was under his pillow, they would still sneak it out when Ranboo wasn’t around and read it. But now that he’s alone, he should feel free to leave it out wherever. None of the younger kids come into his room anymore.

The echo of the key locking, and a faint “Goodnight, Ranboo,” from the other side of the door seals his fate for the night.

He lets himself fall back on the bed. He hasn’t changed out of the clothes he wore to the zoo, yet, even though they’re a little sweaty. He had wanted to get a quick shower out of the way before it was night time and his door was locked, but it seemed like the hours got away from him. And he forgot. Too focused on trying to remember every detail of the day he had just had.

It was one of the best days he’s ever had.

Even though it started out a little awkward. Phil and Techno were strange adults, but if they were related to Tommy, then it made sense that they were all that way. Tubbo, too, was strange, but not in the way that Tommy and his family seemed to radiate. 

The zoo was interesting, too. He’d finished his report on the lions he had saw and turned it in as soon as he had finished it, and then immediately went to recount the details of the day. From Tommy taunting the birds and getting attacked, to Tubbo in the garden and how happy he was, to the awkward conversation that occurred in the cafe with Phil and Techno. 

He didn’t want to forget  _ anything. _

_ The Odyssey.  _

It was strange his brain jumped to that so quickly. The book Techno had been reading. Ranboo hadn’t gotten to ask what it was about, or if he liked it or not. The eldest brother had his nose buried in it for most of the day, and was in the cafe the entire time, but he had seemed to finish it by the end of the day and mostly made a few snide quips to Phil in the car on the way back to the park.

He wondered if he would be able to find a copy of it at the library on their next library trip.

The flicker of lights and laughter down the hall brought him back to the present moment. The electricity was worn down in the old orphanage, and they should  _ definitely _ get it checked out before a fire starts, but he hadn’t seen any electricians in the building in years. 

Ranboo glanced around his room, laying back down in his bed a bit more. He didn’t-- he didn’t want to go to sleep. He didn’t want to sleepwalk again, wake up in a different place, and wonder what he had done in his sleeping state to get there. The desk thing hadn’t been that big of a deal to him, he just had a small sore spot on his head that was gone by the afternoon, but not being able to stop sleepwalking made him upset.

He closed his eyes. His body went through the motions easily and quickly-- a tap to the forehead, his sternum, and both his shoulders. He clasped his fingers together.

_ If You are listening. Please. Please, stop this sleepwalking. _

_ I don’t know what I did to deserve it. I’m sorry for whatever sins I have done to make You punish me like this. _

_ I don’t want to be like this anymore. I want to be able to sleep without the Sisters locking my door. _

_ Please, God. Jesus. Mary. All the Saints. I ask for your forgiveness and healing. _

_ Amen. _

He opened his eyes.

The room was still the same. The lights flickered again, and he heard loud footsteps-- Sister Joan-- going down the hall to where the laughter was coming from. That wouldn’t be good, Ranboo knew, but he didn’t want to listen to whatever scolding the younger kids would get. Instead, he pulled out his phone, plugged his earbuds in, and opened up his music.

The music that played in the car was interesting. It was much harsher than what the nuns had downloaded on his phone for him, but it had an interesting beat. He couldn’t understand any of the words, but he didn’t want to ask. He didn’t think of asking. He was more interested in whatever Tommy and Tubbo were talking about, to distract from the way that Phil drove once they hit the highway.

But all he had were the songs the sisters downloaded and a few extra-- instrumentals, of music that would help him study. Beethoven. Bach. Mozart.

Soft piano tones started playing through the earbuds, and Ranboo closed his eyes, just for a second.

And promptly fell asleep.

* * *

It isn’t often that he wakes up, mid-sleepwalk.

He’s standing, still, but waking up makes his legs stumble and give out under him. He reaches out and catches himself on the counter.

He blinks in the dark light. The feeling of tile underneath his fingers makes his heart sink. He doesn’t want to look anywhere but up, but looking at the tile under him, makes him realize one thing.

It makes his body feel cold. Not just because of his bare feet on the tile, but his entire body feels submerged in ice. 

It isn’t a dream.

Ranboo uses the kitchen counter to help himself stand back up. It’s eerily quiet in the house at night, when the entire orphanage is asleep. Even Sister Anne, who is up at periodic hours, is probably asleep at this time. The clock on the microwave gives away the time.

_ 3:02 AM _ blinks back at him angrily.

Ranboo walks over to the small, kitchen table. They don’t use it for much unless it’s one person, grabbing a snack, but it’s situated by a bay window with a view out to the backyard. The moon shines bright light on the yard, illuminating the little bit of water in the plastic kiddie pool in the backyard, reflecting off the fresh dew in the yard. It’s bright enough to light up the kitchen, ever so slightly.

He takes a deep breath, walking closely to the window, staring out with wide eyes. His thoughts are going too fast for him.

_ How did I end up here what happened where am I I’m in the kitchen what was I doing was I asleep where did it go how did I get here--- _

Ranboo tears his eyes away from the backyard and looks around the kitchen. It feels frozen in time, but that was ridiculous-- the time blinks back  _ 3:05 AM _ on the clock.

_ One of the younger kids probably got the keys off one of the sisters and unlocked his door.  _ Right, yes. That was completely reasonable, Ranboo told himself, as he slowly shuffled out of the kitchen and through the main room. The wood creaked under his feet slightly, but he knew all the sisters slept like logs.

It was why they locked his door at night. They wouldn’t hear him shuffling around, sleepwalking, and would find him passed out in a random place in the morning. Once in the living room, sprawled out on the old couch, with a bible in one of his hands. Once, one of the younger girls found him passed out in the girls bathroom.

Once they found him outside in the yard.

He counts his blessings as he goes up the stairs.  _ I’m awake now. I didn’t wake up in a weird place with a sister staring over me. I didn’t end up hurting myself this time. I didn’t freak any of the younger kids out. I didn’t destroy anything. _

He gets to his door, still counting blessings.  _ I’m not hurt. I’m awake. I’m awake. I’m awake. _

He turns the knob.

It’s still locked. 

If his heart had fallen before, into his gut, then it promptly tumbled out of his body and shattered on the ground in a million pieces. He jiggles with the knob again, and it’s still locked. 

_ How? How? How how how how  _ **_how how how_ **

Ranboo breaks himself away from the door, gasping loudly. He tries to calm his breath. He shakes his head, as if shaking off the bad thoughts, as if it would help, but his thoughts are starting to run again faster, and he can’t keep up.

Did he get out the window? No, his windows are usually locked. They have screens on them. Someone would’ve heard him fall out of a window, hopefully. He would be in  _ pain,  _ right? If he had fallen out of a window? All the other doors are locked in the house. There is no way he should have gotten back in.

It feels like he’s on some sort of ship, as his thoughts engulf him and he steps back into the wall behind him and slides down. A ship in the middle of a storm. The waves are rocking the boat, back and forth. He doesn’t know how to swim, and the salty brine stings his skin.

_ How how how h̶o̶w̴ ̶ h̷͖̒̓͛͊o̸̯͗̇̏̃͝w̸̮̣̲͍͎̏͂̈͗̔͘ ḥ̴̘̱̖̩̲̮͔̬͓̔̔̚̕͝ͅo̵̻͍͕̍͌̍̇̈́͛w̷̭̳̲̤͔̩͎͚͉͊̒̀͑̂̒̊--- _

It’s Sister Joan who finds him passed out, right outside his locked bedroom door, the next morning. 

* * *

Sunday is rough.

Ranboo had been awoken right outside his bedroom door. He didn’t have concrete memory of what had happened-- he woke up at some point, outside of his bedroom. He didn’t feel good, but not sick enough to miss mass, so he goes through the motions of getting ready for church.

He gets a shower in, this time Sister Anne lets him borrow hers since the other boys are taking too long in the boys shower, but he doesn’t revel in the way the hot water warms up his freezing skin, despite the fact that it was in the middle of the summer. The button-up slips on just as easily as every Sunday, his slacks and belt fit just fine, all that happens is that he’s helped with his tie by Sister Anne before they leave and pile into the van to drive to church together.

Father Patrick leads, as usual. Ranboo goes through the motions, as usual. He stands when everyone stands, recites the Nicene Creed.

_ and I look forward to the resurrection of the dead _

_ and the life of the world to come. Amen. _

Sister Agnes stands close to him. She keeps her eyes on him, a little too much. Not in a gross way, but in a distrustful way.

No one talked about what had happened that night, other than Sister Joan who had found him and told the other kids to quiet down in the ride to mass as Ranboo sat awkwardly squished against the side of the van and looked out the window. His earbuds were in but no music was playing.

His knuckles sting as they kneel down for prayer, as Father Patrick blesses the communion.

Does he feel worthy enough to receive it this week? Has he sinned so badly, that God has decided to punish him for it?

He still gets up and takes it, and a sip of the wine as well. 

The wine never tastes like what he expects, but it feels like it tastes a little more like actual blood today. He’s also chewed through one of his lips, so that could explain the metallic taste this week.

As the younger kids load up into the van to get driven off to the park, Sister Agnes stops Ranboo and gives him a rosary.

“All twenty mysteries today.” She says curtly, as he wraps the wooden beads around his hand. It isn’t the plastic one that he has on his nightstand in his room, painted a bright red-and-green pattern from a craft night one night. This one is wood, carved delicately enough for him to still feel the grains on the wood. “When you’re done, text Anne or Marie and they’ll come walk over to pick you up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ranboo’s voice is raw. He nods. Sister Agnes nods back, and ducks into the passenger side of the van next to Sister Marie. The van drives off, a small cloud of dust forming in its wake, as the young children are carted off quickly to home to change so they can go to the park and get rid of all the extra energy.

He notices Charlie’s face looking at him through the window as they drive off.

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning. The sun hasn’t hit noon yet, and it isn’t too warm out, but Ranboo still feels like his skin is ice cold. There aren’t any clouds in the sky. He should be smiling at the beautiful weather, but everything feels empty and cold, and he grips the rosary tightly in his hands. 

He doesn’t want to go back into the church. It’s empty, now, or almost empty. Families have all piled back into their cars in their best Sunday dress and are off to get brunch somewhere, or go back home and enjoy a quiet summer day together. But he doesn’t want to go back into the church and kneel, for however long it takes to pray all twenty mysteries of the rosary, just quite yet.

Ranboo pulls out his phone and checks the time, and notices he has a text from Tubbo.

**_TUBBO:_ ** **I know you have church Sundays but are you free this afternoon? :)**

The message from his friend almost hurts him to read, and he puts his phone back into his pocket. If he had felt bad before, he felt even  _ worse _ now. At least, the nuns were kind and didn’t take his phone, but he probably wouldn’t be able to leave the orphanage for a good few days. If not weeks.

If not months, with Sister Agnes involved.

He rubs away the tears forming at his eyes, gripping the rosary tighter. Not enough to break it in his hands. He doesn’t have that strength. But he feels the beats digging into his palms and it reminds him to go and pray, get it all done and over with. And then he can deal with everything else.

And then he can deal with whatever God throws his way.

Even though, all his thoughts, all his prayers seem to be, contain only one word.

_ Why? _

_ Why? _

_ Why? _

* * *

**_TUBBO:_ ** **hey what’s uuupp**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **ranboo**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **ranboo do you wanna hear about the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy**

**_TUBBO:_** **actually, hold on, do you even know what that is? I can sum it up for you :)**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **or not hahaha**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **ranboo?**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **ranboooooo**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **ranbooo answer your phooonnneee**

* * *

**_TOMMY:_ ** **ay ranboo please fucking answer tubbo he won’t shut up**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **ranboo**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **ranboo if you don’t answer me either i WILL find where u live and make you answer**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **or just be like. incredibly annoying.**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **so pick ur poison mate**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **okay this isn’t funny, answer your phone**

* * *

**_TUBBO:_ ** **is everything okay ranboo?**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **i know you have summer classes and stuff but you should be free right now, right?**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **unless it’s finals. then best of luck.**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **but please respond soon, i’m getting a little worried**

* * *

**_TOMMY:_ ** **ay wtf it’s been three days**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **do you just not wanna b friends anymore?**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **at least have the balls to say it to tubbo. Idon’t care if you dont talk to me anymore**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **but if you’re gonna ghost us at least tell tubbo**

* * *

It’s raining again.

Another summer storm had been forecasted to hit Tuesday, but it came a little later. Thursday evenings are never anything spectacular, in Ranboo’s opinion. 

They exist only as the barrier between Wednesday and Friday. The middle of the week and the end of the week, with classes, at least, in his case. He doesn’t like Thursdays that much, because nothing really seems to happen on Thursday.

He’ll be getting his phone back Friday. He’s looking forward to that. He didn’t have time to text Tommy or Tubbo and tell them that he was. What’s the word?

Grounded?

He doesn’t understand why he’s grounded. The Sisters won’t explain  _ why _ . Only Sister Anne has looked at him in the eye after Sunday, with the same warm, friendly smile.

It’s the time that he first started sleepwalking, all over again. His doors are locked and Sister Agnes has scheduled a worker to put bars over the window, and when his door is locked at night, a chair is pushed up against the door to protect himself from getting out again.

No one’s talked about how Ranboo got out of his room without unlocking the door. Which is fine. Sometimes… Sometimes  _ weird _ things happen, he supposes.

But he’s  _ grounded,  _ or whatever the orphanage-equivalent is of being grounded. To be grounded, you have to have a parent tell you you’re grounded. His caregivers didn’t say anything like that, only that he couldn’t go out of the house for the next week, and to give them his phone.

Not being able to listen to music is weird. It’d been a nice way to escape. Maybe he needed time away from it, so it wouldn’t get too addictive. He still has books, he still has his journal, that he’s scribbled in every now and then.

No recounting of days, when they’re all the same.

Other thoughts, this time.

_ I don’t know why they’re treating me like this. I don’t even know what I did. _

_ How did I get out if the door was locked? _

_ I hope my friends are okay. I hope they won’t be mad. _

Dinner is called for, but Ranboo doesn’t feel too hungry. He had a late snack to help him focus on history reading, and it hadn’t been that long ago, but he still follows the younger kids down the stairs.

Charlie waits for him at the top of the stairs. She holds out her hand and he takes it. Her hair is awkwardly parted-- at some point during the week, she had chopped both her braids off with scissors, and it was a choppy, chin-length cut now. The nuns had done their best to repair what they could.

It’s pork for dinner. He’s not particularly excited, but he loads up on the vegetables and takes a smaller piece of pork to eat instead. The dining table is in the usual messy state that it is, with kids sitting and chatting loudly after prayer that they didn’t wait for Ranboo to start.

Everything is dull. He still feels cold.

Sister Anne asks him to help with dishes as the younger kids begin to fight over who gets to take a shower first tonight. He never gets to go first, so he helps.

“How are you today, Ranboo?” Sister Anne asks as she begins to rinse off the dishes. Ranboo opens the dishwasher to load them into, and takes the first plate carefully to not drop it.

“Eh, the usual.” He replies. What more can he say?

“Haven’t seen you all day, is all.” Sister Anne says. She hands him a glass. “Working hard, or hardly working?”

“...Working hard…?”

“That’s good. You’re a smart kid.” She gives him a smile. Ranboo wishes he could recognize the smile entirely, but he can’t focus on her face enough without getting frustrated at not being able to see it. “Do you need any help with anything?”

“No. I don’t think so.” It’s all easy to understand. It was mostly reading through history, about one of the world wars. He should know which war he was reading about, but it’s escaping him now. Stupid memory. 

“Well, if you ever need any help, I’m just as qualified as everyone else to help you.” She says. Another plate, a fork. “How have you been sleeping?”

_ Hardly. Not at all.  _ “Good.”

“Any sleepwalking?”

_ Yes.  _ “Yes.”

It’s waking up mid re-folding all his laundry. It’s waking up fallen out of his desk again. It’s waking up, once at his door, with his hand around the knob. 

“I’m talking to Sister Agnes about taking you to see a sleep doctor.” She explains. “I don’t… I don’t understand everyone’s hesitation against it. They all seem dead set on thinking it’s punishment from the Almighty, but… It’s something else, I know.”

That’s reassuring, Ranboo thinks, as he remembers to turn the knives to face down in the dishwasher. Too many small kids, too many times someone has been stabbed by a knife and cried from the injury. 

“I’m sorry your week has been rough, Ranboo. You didn’t deserve to be grounded over something you can’t control.” She hands him more plates and cups. He puts them away. “Can you keep a secret, Ranboo?”

“Um. I guess. I probably won’t remember it.” He laughs nervously at the joke, and it gets a chuckle from the Sister as well. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll remember it.” She reaches into her habit-- a pocket-- and pulls out his cellphone. She sets it in his hand. “You’re supposed to get it back tomorrow, but Sister Agnes won’t notice if you get it back tonight before bed or tomorrow when you wake up.”

She winks. 

“T-Thank you.” He drops it into the pocket of his pants. The earbuds have been laid alone on his nightstand for so long. He could listen to music again. It would be nice to have it back.

“You’re welcome, Ranboo.” She sighs, and puts the remaining dishes in the dishwasher herself. Despite their ages, all the nuns are auspiciously spry and energetic. Maybe it’s what they have to be to work in an orphanage. Sister Anne glances out the bay window in the kitchen.

The storm rains on.

“Maybe we’ll have a sunny day tomorrow, too.”

* * *

**_TOMMY:_ ** **bitch**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT ME ACCIDENTALLY POSTING THIS CHAPTER A DAY BEFORE IT WAS DONE OOPS  
>  **  
>  _angst time_  
> **  
>  I'm on twitter [@cosmonaughtt](https://twitter.com/cosmonaughtt) if that means anything to y'all B)
> 
> Don't worry about Ranboo. I'm sure everything is fine :)
> 
> edit 2/16 like 4 hours after I originally posted it: added a content warning before the chapter because he DOES have a panic attack at that one point but it's not graphic or very well descriptive


	5. Okay, Everything Is Fine. I Think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally gonna wait to post this but Ranboo hit 50k subs and it's one am and I am happy so you guys can get it early :)

**_TUBBO:_ ** **do you think Ranboo will be at the park today, tommy?**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **idfk**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **it’s been a while. I’m worried**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **he’s probably just another bitch that ghosted us. Got a free fucking trip to the zoo, at least.**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **i don’t think so! he’s too nice!**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **that’s what u said about that gregory dude.**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **gregory is a totally different set of circumstances to ranboo. first of all, i am offended by that comparison.**

**_TUBBO:_** **second of all,** **for all we know his phone could’ve broke and they couldn’t have gotten it repaired. we don’t know much about his home life, tommy**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **whatever :P**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **you still on for sparring later?**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **sure! B)**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **i’ll kick your ass**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **i’ll kick YOUR ass**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **fuck no you won’t**

* * *

**_TOMMY:_ ** **fuck u**

* * *

“Ranboo!” 

The cheery voice of Tubbo rings out. It takes a moment for Ranboo to look around, and even then, he doesn’t notice Tubbo until he’s close to his face and waves directly  _ at  _ him. Tommy being by his side helps, and they’re both wearing the same shirts that they wore when they first met at the park.

Tubbo got a haircut.

“Oh, uh. Hi.”

“Officially un-grounded, eh?” Tommy snarks. “Didn’t take you much for a bad-boy type.”

“I didn’t, um.” He didn’t want to talk about  _ why _ he was grounded. He didn’t want to think about it, because it made him think of sleepwalking, and--

“Tommy, leave him alone.” Tubbo rolled his eyes. “We’re just glad to see you back in the flesh.”

“It’s nice to be outside again, too.”

“You weren’t allowed to leave your house?” Tommy asks, his voice much louder and angrier and directed at… Well, not Ranboo, which was nice. “Even when Phil grounds me he at least lets me fuckin’ see Tubbo!”

“Well, there was that one time--”

“It didn’t last a day cause I snuck out when he wasn’t lookin’.” Tommy winked at Ranboo. “Phil was  _ pissed _ after, though, but nothin’ can keep me and Tubbo apart for long!”

“Oh.” Ranboo blinks. He fidgets awkwardly with the edge of his shirt. “Well, um… How have you two been doing?”

It’s relaxing to see his friends again. He still feels a little cold, but the warmth of the sun on his skin and being by two people his age is nice. It’s nice, they go to the ice cream place again and Ranboo tries chocolate ice cream and it’s really good, and they sit outside and enjoy the warmth of the sun. Only Tommy has his skateboard that day, he’s trying to master a trick that Ranboo doesn’t understand.

Tubbo is the emotional support, but still laughs when Tommy messes up and lands on his face.

They spend most of the day together. The world is still a little muddy from the previous storm, but the sun is shining brightly again. They walk through the park as Tommy breezes by them on his skateboard and gives them a peace sign.

Ranboo doesn’t wander too deep into the paths at the park, the small trails that lead by a small creek with a bridge over it. He’s used to keeping by the playground with the younger kids. It’s quieter in the trails. He’ll have to keep that in mind.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what  _ did _ you get grounded for?” Tubbo asks as they hit the bridge. Tommy had fallen on his face again and was carrying his board now, furiously texting someone about something. Ranboo didn’t know.

“Oh, um. If I’ll be honest, I don’t even understand why I was grounded.”

“That’s awful. At least when I used to get grounded, my family told me why. ‘Tubbo, you were out past curfew,’ or ‘Tubbo, stop playing video games and focus on schoolwork’, y’know, stuff like that.” He imitates his parents by dropping his voice as he speaks, and it gets a chuckle from Ranboo. 

“Yeah, no. I don’t…” He sighs, and looks out over the edge of the bridge. The creek doesn’t look too deep, but he wouldn’t want to fall over the edge and find out. 

He takes a deep breath.

“I sleepwalk.”

“Oh?” Tubbo glances at him at that. They don’t lock eyes-- which is nice. Eyes might be one of the few things that actually stand out on someone’s face for Ranboo, but it doesn’t make them any less creepy and unnerving to look at.

“And, um. I usually have to lock my room at night or I end up in weird places. The kitchen, the living room… I actually woke up outside once. That was… not fun.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.” Tommy’s tuned into the conversation now, leaning his back against the edge of the bridge. 

“Yeah, but I. I don’t really know what happened, but I got out of my room the other night, and… they were upset. That’s why I was grounded.” He tries to avoid language that directly ties him to the orphanage. It’s the only orphanage in town-- maybe, the whole county, since most kids end up in the foster system, not an orphanage-- and he still doesn’t want his friends to know he doesn’t have a family.

He also doesn’t mention the rosary that took him two hours to pray because he couldn’t focus. Sister Agnes was happy more that he spent it all in the church and took his time, at least there wasn’t any punishment there.

“Why would they be upset? Can you control yourself when you sleepwalk?” Tubbo asks.

“...No, I can’t.”

“Then it’s fuckin’ stupid that you were grounded.” Tommy says. “I’ll fight your mom and dad. Or your moms. Or your dads. Or your non-gendered parental figures.”

“Um.”  _ Dads? Moms?  _ But even though the image of Tommy taking on the nuns was funny for a second, he pushed the mental image away. “No, I don’t think you need to do that.”

“Just let me know when you need me to, I can really fuck someone up.”

“ _ Sure _ you can, Tommy.” Tubbo rolled his eyes. He didn’t even try to hide the mumble under his breath, and even grinned at Tommy when the blond turned red. Not literally red, but Ranboo could see his cheeks flush an angry pink.

“Ay, are those fighting words?” He takes a big gasp for air, trying to size himself up. Tommy is a good bit taller than Tubbo, but Ranboo definitely has the height advantage of the three.

“Not  _ now _ , but maybe later.” Tubbo turns back to Ranboo. “Sorry you have to deal with parents like that who don’t understand.”

“Yeah.”  _ Parents. _

They stand at the bridge for a little bit, enjoying the tranquil nature around them. 

It’s Tommy who breaks the silence. As usual.

“Do you need glasses, Ranboo?”

“What?” The question came out of seemingly nowhere. He couldn’t even think of where Tommy’s mind had gotten the idea from. Even though the orphanage had decent amounts of money saved up for annual physicals for everyone, and Ranboo has gone to a doctor at least once a year since he first arrived, there had never been any problems with his eyes.

They were perfect, as far as he was aware.

“I mean, just. Earlier today, you didn’t see Tubbo an’ I until we were right in front of ya.” Tommy shrugs. “Just thought you might need glasses.”

“Oh, that.” He feels his ears flush. He just wants to say--  _ oh, it’s my poor memory, I forget sometimes--  _ but that sounds even worse than just the plain truth. He takes a breath. It’s a little shaky. Everyone at the orphanage knows Ranboo has an issue with seeing faces, but he’s never had to explicitly  _ tell _ anyone before. “I, um. I have prosopagnosia.”

“What’s that?” Tommy deadpans. Tubbo glares at him, but since Ranboo is in the middle, he can’t get an elbow or a friendly hit upside the head.

“It’s face blindness, right?” Tubbo asks, and the pieces click in his head so suddenly. “ _ That’s  _ why you had to get Phil to come get you! You wouldn’t be able to recognize him!”

“Yeah. It’s usually easy to identify people by, like. Their voices and stuff but when they’re not talking it’s harder.” He feels like a little weight has been lifted off his chest. He doesn’t know why. 

“Face blindness and sleepwalking? Must suck to be you.”

“Eh, kinda.” Ranboo gets a reply in before Tubbo can, and Tommy does his loud laugh. It’s more of a chortle than anything, and Tubbo joins in with a laugh of his own, too.

He hadn’t even touched on the  _ orphan _ thing yet, but he was only willing to be an open book for so long.

* * *

The grocery store seems to be a little more lively than it was before.

The warm beach decorations set up at the beginning of summer had long been taken down, slowly replaced by  _ back to school _ essentials and displays, despite the fact there was still a month left of normal summer.

Ranboo was running out of room in his current journal, so it was nice that Sister Joan took him grocery shopping that week. He could pick up a new notebook to write down all his thoughts.

_ All _ his thoughts. It had become less of a daily recount, to more personal thoughts. He still hides it under the pillow, even though everyone knows where it is.

He finds a notebook nestled in the back-to-school section. It’s a composition book, but it’s a different color. This one is green. 

He likes the color.

* * *

Watching a kid go has never been as bittersweet as this, Ranboo thinks, watching the short-haired Charlie leave out the door with her new family.

It hadn’t been any of what the nuns, or any of the children, were expecting. Ranboo worried that Charlie would have to age out of the system like he was most likely going to-- she doesn’t talk to people, she cut her own hair and refused to wear the Sunday dresses that the nuns put her into. 

All in all, she was, and quote, ‘a bit of a brat’. Not that Ranboo could relate-- he had spent most of his time at the orphanage listening to every word that the Sisters told him, following everything to a T, so he could be the next kid out the door with a loving family and new home.

Not that  _ that _ worked for him. Even though he was an amazing child, no one wanted him. 

Yet, he couldn’t feel but a twinge of jealousy as Charlie gave him one last hug before leaving with her new parents. They were parents in town who had spent years trying to have a child of their own, and when they realized they couldn’t, they came to the orphanage to see the young children, but Charlie stood out to them. Even though she was older, even though she had a temper and did things her own way and didn’t speak to anyone, they decided that Charlie was the one.

Ranboo wonders what it feels like. To finally be  _ seen,  _ as a kid, by adults, and to be taken into warm, loving arms.

He’s had hugs from Sister Anne before, trying to calm him down from waking up in the living room during the beginning of his sleepwalking and not understanding where he was or what had happened. They were soft and warm, but they weren’t the loving embrace of a family.

Charlie’s hug was probably the closest.

She looks him up in the eye as her new parents are waiting by the door and hands him something, a piece of paper that’s folded up into the smallest square imaginable. Ranboo doesn’t have time to wonder how she was able to do that before she gives him a faint smile and waves goodbye, leaving through the door she had come in through only months prior.

It’s bittersweet. Whenever a kid gets adopted, the entire orphanage sees them off. The younger kids are waving and cheering and saying,  _ you better visit! _ , but the cheers and waves are never fully truthful. They’re always tinted with waves of jealousy from everyone. 

_ Why not me? Why couldn’t it be me? _

Maybe not Ranboo, that much, anymore, because he’s the oldest and no one goes around adopting teenagers that much. No one would want him even if he was a kid, with his poor memory and face blindness and sleepwalking. He was too much of a trouble to deal with; all he had to do was pray that his eighteenth birthday would come sooner than he expected. 

“Alright, everyone, back to your homework.” Sister Joan turns around, crossing her arms. All the kids groan and turn back to walk back to the chapel. She follows behind them close, to make sure the kids aren’t dilly-dallying or trying to get out of it like they usually do. Ranboo watches them leave, and he’s alone in the main entrance again, holding the piece of paper that Charlie gave him.

He opens it.

It’s a drawing-- Charlie was never the sort of kid for many words, Ranboo couldn’t relate. But it was a drawing of the two of them. It’s got the style of a nine-year-old, though the faces are actually quite good despite the awkward-proportioned bodies, and they’re standing in what looks like a field. There’s a hot air balloon in the distance with two other people on it.

He squints at the hot air balloon.

One of the people wears red and the other green-- the green person has brown hair, the red person has blond hair.

It’s uncanny that it resembles Tommy and Tubbo, off in the distance. It’s just a coincidence though-- neither of his friends had ever seen anyone in the orphanage or the orphanage itself, as far as Ranboo was aware. There was no way that their paths could have crossed, right?

He glances back at the door. Charlie is long-gone now. His hands feel a little cold.

“Ranboo, are you alright?” Sister Marie asks, as she walks back into the main room with a broom in hand.

“Oh, uh, yes, I am.” He folds the drawing up and shoves it in his pocket. “Sorry, just got lost in thought.”

“As you seem to do quite often.” Sister Marie speaks with harsher tones than the other nuns (excluding Sister Agnes), and she starts to get back to sweeping the dust pile she had started before the adoption had been finalized and Charlie was to leave. “Best get back to your studies, too, or Joan’ll assign you more work.”

“Right.”  _ Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.  _ Even though he had finished all his work for the day, it was lightly raining out. He couldn’t leave the orphanage during the rain. It just wasn’t allowed.

Which was fine with him.

He didn’t like the rain, anyway. 

There’s a beat of silence as he gets back up into his room. There are some loose papers scattered on his desk of math problems that he’s all but solved now, a few history books and a catechism on top. They were beginning to push him more into being confirmed-- Pentecost was still but a year away, but the Sisters wanted him to be on top of everything all the time, including picking a saint for that day. 

He doesn’t know about it. He doesn’t know who to pick-- he pushes the catechism to the side. And the saint book that had been wedged under it. He pushes it all to the side. He’ll work on it, later.

Turning his head around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten to shut the door, he grabs his journal. This time it was at his desk, because he was trying to organize a few extra thoughts about Charlie leaving before they were all called down to give her a final Lord’s prayer and say their goodbyes.He takes out the drawing she gave him and slides it into the back, between the cardboard backing of the notebook and the papers itself, before looking back at the green cover.

It’s got, just like all of his other notebooks,  _ DO NOT READ _ scribbled on the front of it with a permanent marker, where the subject should go. He did it as a child when he was still rooming with other boys his own age, but it was never respected. Even when they were caught by the nuns reading his book, they barely got scolded.

He sighs, setting the journal back down on his desk. 

He’s a little sleepy. He hasn’t slept that well since the incident, and when he did sleep well, he would wake up, half in his closet, half off his desk, or somewhere else in his room. At least he hadn’t gotten out yet-- the locked door and the chair prevented him from getting out however he got out the last time. The people Sister Agnes hired had come and put bars in over his window, so he couldn’t get out either.

Ranboo glances to the window in question. The metal bars are solid black and stand out against the gray-blue sky that the rain falls from. Opening the window would give a cool breeze through his room, but his hands were already a little chilly and he didn’t want to be  _ that person _ who put on a sweater during a summer rain. 

Maybe they’ll take down the bars if his sleepwalking stops. When the nuns can trust him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also don't @ me for leaving vague replies to your comments last chapter for it to be fine. I gotta keep y'all on your toes B)
> 
> I'm not 100% feeling the fic name anymore because it was just something I threw on to title it, I'm going to try and figure out something cool that still has that sick ~religious symbolism~, so if the title randomly changes at some point, y'all know why B)
> 
> Side note-- if I see any of you guys talking about this on like. twitter or tiktok i will literally spontaneously combust on the spot  
> See you guys in the next chapter! 
> 
> blah blah blah [twitter](https://twitter.com/cosmonaughtt)
> 
> (P.S. just finished 'oh, we can be heroes' and OUCH <3)


	6. I Was Wrong, Nothing Is Actually Fine :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **content warning:**   
>  **\- a bit of graphic body horror. none of the main boys. do not worry, they are safe for now <3**

_ It stares at the trio of boys in the woods. The blond is leading the pack, laughing annoyingly loud, followed closely by the brunet. The third, taller boy-- with dark hair flecked with bits of gray, premature gray, at such a young age, how sad-- follows behind awkwardly. _

_ The third boy is what attracts him the most. Its known of the existence of the two boys for so long. Its seen them since they were young, knew of what they could do before they did, so when a third boy came into the group, it intrigued it. _

_ People like them don’t bond with just anybody, and it could tell there was something interesting with the tall boy. _

_ He has spoken of sleepwalking and face blindness. He’s never spoken of home, but when it follows the boy home, it isn’t a home, it’s an orphanage. An orphan. No family. _

_ It tries to remember all of them that he’s encountered. But it can’t think of any like the tall boy.  _

_ The orphanage is a weird place. It is run by very pious, religious people, and the boy follows their every word. Is he really religious, too? Or is it all a front, an act, to play so that the boy does not get hurt any more than he already has? _

_ It dances between the tree branches to follow the boys. The smaller form allows him to follow people without being noticed. The boys are talking about something. School. Education. _

_ It doesn’t care about that. _

_ It is just a predator hunting its p r e y… _

* * *

Summer is coming close to its end. It’s only a manner of weeks before normal school starts back up, which means that there will be less time for Ranboo to hang out with Tommy and Tubbo. 

They keep trying to convince him to get a “discord” account, easier to keep in contact with him, but he says that his caregivers would be upset if he got an app called  _ Discord.  _ Not the word caregivers. He doesn’t say who, not much more than  _ they wouldn’t like this, they wouldn’t like that, I’m sorry… _

Tommy says to do it anyway, but Ranboo can’t.

He just. He just can’t. 

It’s dropped shortly after that, and they try to go back to their walk on the trail as normally as they possibly can. As normal as they usually do. The air is still a little tense, and Ranboo is drowning in both his thoughts and the humidity of the late summer day.

_ It’s for the best, that school is starting back up, that you’ll see them less,  _ a part of him says in his head. It’s not a nice part of him, Ranboo recognizes, one that sounds like Father Patrick and the Sisters and everyone who has taken care of him but also himself at the same time.  _ More time to focus and study and pray.  _

But this summer had been the most unforgettable one that he’s ever had-- even with memory problems, it was easier to remember the days he spent with Tommy and Tubbo than the days that he didn't. He’s able to get out of the orphanage and see more of their small town-- not as small as it seems when he’s in the seat of a car. It used to feel so small and like he was looking at the town as a picture, as just something on the television, as they drove by, but now he can walk and go to the places they would pass by and it would feel real.

It was a weird feeling. He doesn’t want to forget it. He’s scribbled words to try and describe it in the margins of his journal but none of them ever fit quite right.

He doesn’t want the summer to end. 

Neither do the other two, but they have as much control of it as Ranboo-- none.

“We could do study sessions! At, like, the library and stuff.” Tubbo suggests.

They’ve moved down towards the creek that winds through the park. The bridge is a little ways away and above them. The creek is as clear as ever, winding in a direction under the bridge and a direction into a sewer. Not the kind that has to deal with anything flushed, it allows the creek to dig under a nearby road.

Tommy flips a few rocks over, looking for crawfish to torment, but he laughs after Tubbo speaks.

“Study?!”

“You know  _ you _ need to study more, Toms.” Tubbo retorts. “Wouldn’t you want to try and get better grades this year?”

He just blows a raspberry at Tubbo in response. 

“Studying’s for pussies!” He flips over a rock, and the water sprays a bit everywhere. “Damn it!”

Ranboo’s sitting on the edge-- although it is quite uncomfortable, sitting on a large rock covered in mostly dry dirt-- watching Tommy hunt for crawfish. The water sprays at his sneakers, and he flinches instinctually. 

“Your math grades could surely stand to test that theory!” Tubbo laughs back. “And history, and english… And most sciences…”

“You don’t need to rat him out like that, Tubbo.” Ranboo says.

“See? Ranboo’s on my side, Tubbs.”

“But study sessions sound fun.” Ranboo adds. His voice drops. “I bet they’d be cool with that, too…”

“Ranboo is on  _ my _ side!”

“I’m not really-- on either side--”

He stops himself when he notices something on the other side of the creek.

It looks like a squirrel. But something is telling him otherwise-- it’s not the voice that sounds like everyone but also him, it’s a different voice. It’s his voice, but it’s different. It’s telling him to do ridiculous things,  _ run, run, get away from there, get away from that THING-- _

But it’s just a squirrel. It’s got darker fur than any other squirrel he’s ever seen, and the more that he looks at it, the more the pit in his stomach grows.

“Ranboo, what are you…?” Tubbo stops in his argument with Tommy over who’s side Ranboo was on, noticing that he’d fallen quiet. Tubbo follows where he’s looking.

Ranboo has never seen Tubbo freeze like that. He’s never seen him go that  _ stiff _ before. 

It’s strange. Tubbo is a calm sea to rival Tommy’s ferocious summer storm, but he’s not calm and stiff. He still laughs with gentle waves and is warm like a clear sunny day, not a cloud in sight. But he goes stiff and  _ still _ , and Ranboo realizes then that something is terribly, terribly  _ wrong. _

The squirrel hasn’t moved yet, either. It sits on the other side of the creek, watching them. 

“Ah, shit.” Tommy says aloud. Intentionally, or not. He glances over to Tubbo, and then back to Ranboo, and his eyes widen, ever so slightly.

A small breeze kicks up. 

“All we need to to is stay calm and walk away slowly.”

“From-- from a squirrel?” Ranboo feels his voice crack at that, but he is standing and he is behind Tommy and Tubbo, and they  _ are _ backing away slowly, to the small path they used to get down by the creek. It isn’t much of a path, as it is a small bit of the creek that has just dried up over the years, solid mud and dirt and rocks. 

“Trust us, Ranboo.” Tommy says. His arms are in a defensive position in front of him. Both he and Tubbo are blocking him as best as they can, but it’s awkward with their drastic height difference. Tommy was taller, but Ranboo had a few good extra inches on him, and he was much more long-limbed than the blond was. 

But the difference is that both Tommy and Tubbo were-- well, for the lack of better description,  _ strong.  _ He hadn’t seen it much, but he’d witnessed Tubbo grab Tommy up by the waist and carry him around like he weighed nothing, and Tommy had lithe, strong, dancer limbs. He doesn’t know  _ why _ these two teenagers are so strong, but they are, and he would have just loved to let it be.

“That thing ain’t no squirrel.”

The not-squirrel gets up on its hind legs when Tommy says that and hisses. Hisses like a snake, and hisses really loudly, over the sound of small cascading waterfalls in the creek. 

_ RUN RUN RUN RUN,  _ the voice in his head is telling him. 

The squirrel isn’t a squirrel-- Ranboo doesn’t know  _ what _ to call it, but he can’t help but freeze and watch the squirrel change like it wasn’t a squirrel before. Its limbs swelled and grew with large, bulgy veins, and the head  _ morphed  _ into what sort-of resembles a bear. Not a bear that Ranboo has ever seen, but that’s what his brain said. Small wisps of inky black stuff float off the  _ thing _ in small clouds, and with the thing bigger, he realizes that it isn’t just a dark-colored not-squirrel, it’s a different color entirely.

It’s black. Pure black, like the void, like the night sky with no stars in it.

“Go, go, go!” Tubbo yells, and grabs Ranboo by the arm before pulling him along behind. Tubbo has a strong grip, and he winces at the pain, but he’s dragged along anyway.

“What--” Ranboo tries to complete a coherent thought, but words are tumbling out of his brain. “What-- Tommy?”

He cranes his head to glance behind him as he and Tubbo hit the edge of the small dirt mound. Instead of going up the tree roots they used to get down, Tubbo drags them into the water. The rocks are slippery, but Tommy isn’t right behind them, he’s a good few feet away, staring at the… The demon?

Is that an accurate word to use?  _ Demon?  _ He’s heard of them his whole life. But demons were supposed to be in hell, right? Demons weren’t creatures that could form easily outside of hell, unless they were possessing something--

The creature roars and charges at Tommy, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he swings his arms, and  _ something _ hits the water and splashes the creature in its face.

Ranboo has to be hallucinating, he decides. Or dreaming. He’s actually having an incredibly strange nightmare, isn’t he? 

Tommy swings his arms again, and the demon gets hit with invisible  _ air _ and gets flipped on its back. It doesn’t flip itself over, instead, in a horrid way, the thing’s head and arms just shift so it’s standing upright again. The blond takes that as his cue to ditch, too, and he runs so fast it’s hard to believe his feet are even touching the ground, and Ranboo can’t focus or look more because Tubbo yells, “Ranboo, duck!”

He barely ducks underneath as Tubbo brings him into the sewer. It has a peculiar smell. Ranboo doesn’t like the smell.

Tommy’s there, too, and the demon isn’t too far behind. Another gust-- of air?-- hits the demon with another throw of Tommy’s arms.

“Tommy, do you have the things?” Tubbo asks, and Tommy nods, digging into his pockets.

It must look weird, three teenagers huddled in a sewer connected to cast basins, but no one is around to comment on that other than the literal  _ demon _ that is hunting them down. 

Out of his pockets Tommy produces a necklace. Maybe a more accurate word would be amulet, Ranboo thinks. There’s a flower pendant on one end of it, and it glimmers a pure silver, even in the shadows of the sewer they were huddled under. 

It looks like his flower. It looks like an amaryllis. 

Tommy doesn’t hesitate in swinging the amaryllis amulet into the ground, grabbing Ranboo’s arm (Tubbo still has a death-grip on his other one), and stomping on the pendant.

And then everything

goes

w h i t e 

* * *

_ “--boo? Ranboo, can you hear me?” _

His ears are still ringing. Everything is too bright, but he tries to focus on what he  _ can _ focus on, which are a few things.

One. He’s not standing anymore. His legs are bent in weird ways like they usually are, and he’s sitting in some grass. 

Two. His arm hurts. It’s a strange feeling, like a cuff too tight around his forearm that’s bruised.  _ The one that Tubbo was holding onto. How strong is he? _

He blinks a few times. His head is craned down. He can kinda see his hands now, and his jeans.

Why is he wearing jeans in summer?

_ He’s cold.  _ He’s not cold.

_ “--Didn’t have enough time to warn him, the thing was fuckin’ on us!” _

_ “It’s okay, Tommy.”  _ It’s not Tubbo’s voice. It’s… Is it Phil?

Why was Phil here?

He blinks a few more times. His ears are ringing a little less, and the brightness has died down a bit, but everything is still disorienting. 

_ “Can I touch you, Ranboo?”  _ It’s Phil’s voice. Why is he asking that? What is happening?

Mute, Ranboo nods, and feels two hands touch his shoulders. 

Something drains. The ringing slowly stops, and the bright light dies down slowly. As he comes to, he realizes he’s in someone’s front yard.

The house is unfamiliar. It’s a rustic house of sorts, a pleasant shade of light blue. Not like the sky, much paler, with two comfortable stories. A yellow car is parked out front.  _ That’s-- uh, what was his name-- Wilbur’s!  _ His brain recognizes it.

He looks up. Phil is leaning over him, close but not uncomfortably close. He’s holding onto Ranboo’s shoulders. It’s not often that he feels any physical touch from-- well,  _ anyone.  _ Sister Anne hugs him, the little kids hug him, but that’s the extent of it. Phil pulls his arms away. He has a strange bucket hat on, with his long hair pulled back again.

Tommy and Tubbo are standing nearby, looking nervous.

“What… What happened?”

Tommy and Tubbo exchange a worried glance. Phil sighs, standing up slowly and reaching a hand out to Ranboo to help him up. He takes it, slowly standing. 

“A lot.” Tommy says, and is immediately elbowed by Tubbo. He gives the other boy an incredulous look. “What? I thought we’re supposed to be  _ gentle _ with this shit?”

Phil sighs  _ again _ , pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tommy, can you go find Wilbur? I think he’s in the back by the lemon trees.”

“Sure thing, Dadza!” Tommy salutes, and grabs Tubbo by the arm, dragging him off.

Ranboo rests his hand on one of his arms and winces. He pulls back and notices there’s a red mark around it, right where Tubbo was grabbing really,  _ really  _ hard. He rubs it and yea, it’s definitely bruised somehow.

Phil turns around to him. His face-- as it usually is, for Ranboo, with everyone-- is a blank slate, but he can tell by the way Phil stands that he looks nervous. Like he’s about to tell Ranboo that someone  _ died _ , or that he’s an  _ orphan _ , but he’s already dealt with that trauma, so what’s new there?

“You doin’ okay, Ranboo? I know that stuff like that can be really sudden--”

“Stuff like what?” Ranboo asks. His voice is a little raised, and he winces at it, but his nerves are literally about to bounce out of his skull. “The-- the demon? The-- the-- how did I get here? Where am I right now?”

Phil reaches another hand out hesitantly, before resting it on Ranboo’s shoulder. The loud, nervous thoughts are a little quieter, now, at least. “Yeah,  _ that _ stuff. But I can answer a few of those questions right off the bat. You’re at my house right now.”

It isn’t what he expected when he imagined Tommy’s house. It’s definitely further out than he expected, on a large amount of land. He can spot a little orchard in the back of the house, where Tommy and Tubbo had disappeared to. He can’t tell what trees they have, but they’re all bearing fruit. There’s a small garage attached to the house by the yellow car, but the gray car that they all went into the zoo in was right next to it. A few bushes sprout flowers in the front of the house, and there’s a decently-sized porch.

The house is bigger than when he first glanced at it-- it looks like it goes further back. The porch wraps around a little bit, too, and there’s a little porch on the second floor by large, glass doors. 

“N-nice house.”

“Thanks.” Phil chuckles. “You want to go in? Sit down?”

“Uh, s-sure.” He doesn’t have much to grab at the moment, but he grabs the end of his shirt. The faded gray polo had definitely seen better days, but he had very limited clothing options when most of it came from hand-me-downs from the families of literal  _ nuns _ . 

They go in through the door by the porch. Inside the house, it is homely, and Ranboo can’t exactly tell how it is decorated except that it’s all warm. The walls are an exposed wood, with very few things on it other than a few family photos. There’s a large green couch and a smaller, blue loveseat. The colors on their own would be horrendous, but together they look good.

Everything is mis-matched. 

Phil takes him through the living room and to the kitchen. There’s a small little window-- Ranboo doesn’t know what it’s called, he’s never been in an actual  _ house _ like this, before, now that he thinks about it-- to the kitchen, which is large. It has an old stove, and he only knows it’s old because it’s the same type of stove that they have at the orphanage, and everything there is old. 

The kitchen table is mis-matched like the living room, with different woods and different chairs.

It feels like people just  _ brought _ things to the home and left it there. It should, by all accounts, look tacky, but it doesn’t.

“Sit wherever,” Phil says, and he turns to the fridge. “Want a drink? Wilbur made some fresh lemonade this morning, but we also have a lot of sodas and milk.”

“Oh. Um, lemonade sounds good.” He’s had lemonade a few times. When he was younger, a kind person at the church brought them large lemons and they made lemonade and lemon pie with Sister Joan. But that was years ago, and no one really has fresh fruit anymore, except, by the looks of it, Tommy’s family.

Phil pours a glass and sets it down on the table, even adding a straw, and Ranboo takes it. The ice makes the lemonade condensate in the warm air immediately.

His hands are still a little cold.

“Where do I begin?” Phil sighs, taking the seat next to Ranboo. He looks  _ old--  _ not in a negative way, Ranboo could never think of it like that. But the way he folds down in a sigh, and looks at Ranboo, even with his prosopagnosia, he could tell that Phil was… No, not old. 

Tired.

“What do you know about your parents, Ranboo?” He asks. It’s a strange question.

Ranboo feels his ears heat up.

“You don’t have to answer it-- I know it’s a strange question.” 

“No, it’s just. Um.” He needs to find something to look at so he doesn’t look at Phil, so he stares at the ice in his lemonade. “I didn’t know them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Phil nervously clears his throat. “Well, that complicates things a bit.”

“J-just say it. Please.” He doesn’t want it beaten around the bush. He doesn’t want to dodge it forever-- a part of him tells him to be patient, but he remembers the grotesque demon not-squirrel, he remembers the amaryllis pendant and the bright light, he just wants to know.

“What do you think of magic?”

_ Magic.  _ It’s a small drop in a pool of water, but it.

It makes sense.

_ Magic doesn’t exist. Magic isn’t in the Bible. Magic doesn’t exist.  _

It makes too much sense.

_ Magic doesn’t exist.  _

“I, um. I don’t know.” He looks back at the melting ice. The lemonade is good, it’s not too tart but also not too sweet. “Is that-- is that what all that was? Magic?”

“The basics of it, yeah.” Phil glances up, and Ranboo follows his look and turns back to see three people coming in through the other side of the kitchen, through a sliding glass door.

Tommy, Tubbo-- and Wilbur. He’s wearing the same red beanie, and he’s holding a basket of oranges. 

“You won’t believe how long it took to find him!” Tommy was saying. He stopped, when he noticed Ranboo and Phil sitting at the kitchen table. “We aren’t, eh, interrupting, are we?”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Phil says. “We’ve barely started.”

“Magic.” Ranboo repeats. 

It’s still hitting him.

It’s still suffocating him.

Ranboo was coming from a very touchy place with magic. He was raised religious, and never allowed to read books like  _ Harry Potter  _ or  _ Percy Jackson _ , because they promoted  _ witchcraft _ and  _ paganism.  _ Things that he was told from a young age were  _ bad _ , evil, corrupt,  _ sinful.  _

He was also told that a majority of it wasn’t  _ real,  _ but that it could corrupt his young mind with ideas that it was. And it would cause him to sin, and turn away from the Almighty, and damn him forever.

But they’re casual about the word. Or, well. There was a casual feeling in the air. It’s the life they lived.

Demons. Magic.

It’s definitely  _ a little  _ suffocating.

“Though, it’s a little more specific than that.” Phil glances over at Tommy. Wilbur tosses him an orange, and Tommy catches it. Not with his hands, but it’s cushioned in the air between them, and Tommy juggles it back up into the air, and then to Tubbo, who catches it. “We call them ‘gifts’.”

“Gifts?”

“Gifts from the universe, really. Whatever God you follow, or not follow.” He shrugs. “They’re just plain  _ gifts. _ ”

“And they’re fuckin’ cool as  _ shit! _ ” Tommy says. “Tubbo is, like, super strong, I can control wind, and Phil--”

“Not right now, Tommy.” Phil says, and with one look, Tommy’s mouth closes. He nods. He turns back to Ranboo. “Everyone has gifts, right? Maybe some people are super good at math, or have really great balance, small little gifts.”

He can think of a few. Sister Anne has nice hugs. Christian has a really good singing voice. Charlie-- when she was still at the orphanage-- as quiet as she was, knew how to color with crayons really well.

“But for some people, it’s just a little more.” Phil glances back at his family.

Ranboo looks back at the lemonade. The ice has barely melted, but condensation leaks little droplets down the glass like rain. 

He’s not thirsty anymore. 

He feels… Too full. Even though he’s only had breakfast today, and a snack around lunch before heading out to the park after his studies were done, there’s something in him making him slightly nauseous.

Confusion.

_ God, what is happening?  _ He sends up.  _ Is this… Is this real? Am I dreaming?  _

“I know it’s a lot to dump on you at once, Ranboo.” Phil breaks through his thoughts. Rambo looks back up, but at the awkward hat he’s wearing, not his face. “We can take our time with it, but do you-- do you have any other questions?”

A beat. 

Ranboo’s mouth is dry, but he doesn’t want to drink anymore, and he doesn’t want to ask, but he asks anyway. “And that… demon…?”

“It’s. Yeah, that’s a good word.” He says. “We usually call it a  _ dreamon _ , but demon applies just as well. It’s not a demon in any biblical sense, but more in a magical sense.”

“H-How…?”

“Dreamons form from a specific kind of magic energy gaining the will to live.” 

Oh. 

Part of this whole ordeal made… Sense, to Ranboo.

He’d never snuck a few pages of other books like  _ Harry Potter _ in the library, because it would be too obvious, and he would get caught, but a few other books he had peered into had different, magical worlds.  _ Narnia _ comes to mind as an example, one series he read all the way through snippets of at the library when he was younger. A different, magical world.

It made sense.

It made  _ sense,  _ but the other part of him felt like it was all  _ bad.  _ The part of him that says  _ this is a sin. _

But.

He can’t always listen to that voice, right? It can’t be true, right?  _ Phil and Tommy and Tubbo and Wilbur are all so nice… Is this really a life of sin? Or is it something… else? _

He was raised in a black-and-white sense of morality. There was  _ good _ and  _ evil,  _ God and the Devil, sin and not-sin.

Logically, though, there had to be shades of gray, right?

* * *

“I’ll drive you home.” Phil offers up.

It’s been a few hours, back at his house. Ranboo knows that it’s getting close to his curfew at the orphanage, but once the general adrenaline and nerves wore off after the encounter with the dreamon, he was feeling a little bit more relaxed.

And, okay. Even though he was metaphorically and morally torn between everything at the moment, he had to admit, it  _ was _ cool to see actual  _ magic.  _

Tommy’s magic explained a lot. Their first encounter, at the grocery store, he used wind to help glide him safely to the ground. He uses it to move faster, too, but he’s clumsy with it. Tubbo’s magic also explained a lot; he was strong, and durable. It’s why he never got hurt when they first ran into each other that one day at the park, it’s why he can lift Tommy  _ and _ Ranboo up like they weigh nothing.

Wilbur had gone off at some point after the Big Talk, as Ranboo is referring to it as, and the third brother, Techno, was nowhere to be found during the whole thing.

He didn’t question it.

“Oh, um. Okay.” He doesn’t know how to get back to the orphanage from Phil’s house, but part of him thinks that Phil  _ knows _ that. 

“You live near the park, yeah? It shouldn’t be too hard for you to direct me back.”

Ranboo nods. He doesn’t do it consciously, but he’s chewed one of his cheeks a little raw, and it tastes a bit metallic. He flinches, and chews on the other cheek instead. 

The gray car is just like he remembered it, but this time Ranboo sits up front.

They don’t play any music.

* * *

_ It isn’t dead. _

_ The boys-- they just escaped from him. Using damned magic, of course, but it knows that it was only a temporary escape. _

_ And one of the boys isn’t like the others. _

_ He doesn’t know of the truth of the universe. He doesn’t know anything, really, about the world or about himself. It revels in that joy. _

_ It revels in every bit of that joy, and finds its way back to the orphanage. _

_ It will wait. It will melt into the shadows and watch its prey and wait. _

_ Its hungry. _

_ It will wait and watch its prey and by the time its prey knows it will be too late. _

:)

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a quick question to ask y'all, you don't need to read the rest of the notes but please help me out with this, okay?
> 
> I don't want this fic to come off as Totally Attacking Christians. Even though some of it is based on my own experience with religion, and I'd love to explore that with characters, I want to ask if I'm starting to overstep lines/boundaries with this fic? Cause the last thing I'd want to do is do THAT, of course. And I want the story to be enjoyed by everybody without the risk of offending anyone or being really awkward in tone even though a lot of fics are that way. I still think it's a decent part of the story, should I tone it back a bit or should I try and edit the last few chapters so that the religion is more ambiguous (like in Night In The Woods, if any of you have ever seen that game.)
> 
> Please let me know in the comments! 
> 
> anyway onto the regularly scheduled author's note;
> 
> I have been so excited to write some of these scenes and I'm happy with how they came out. I wanted to write more for the awkward driving home scene but my brain decided that's where it ends, so. Um. Yeah.
> 
> New title though!! "Promised Land" fits a lot more, huh? B)
> 
> Kudos to those who have tried to guess abilities. I've been going based off the Origins Mod SMP (whatever it's called lmao) but adding a little bit more of my own spin to it. Tommy can control wind, basically an airbender, so that's how he was able to glide down. Tubbo is super strong and durable, lil' tank. They do have their drawbacks but I'll cover it later.
> 
> Two down......... Many more to go? See if y'all can guess Phil's and Wilbur's and Techno's gifts...
> 
> More DreamSMP members will be coming, too! We had Niki pop up, and now that Ranboo has officially been exposed to the strange magical side of the world, more WILL be coming.
> 
> As will more... fun... other things...
> 
> :)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/cosmonaughtt)


	7. I Hate Goodbyes. They Hurt Too Much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning:  
> **  
>  \- death.
> 
> **i'm sorry.**

_Unlike what most people seem to assume, dreamons do not eat only human flesh. It is the best sustenance for them, yes, in the way that a hearty steak is good for most humans._

_It is not very good in the long-run. Humans may be prey, but humans are also a predator in their own rights. Their stamina and strength are all but equal to dreamons._

_They are, for lack of better terms, equal._

_So eating human flesh, while it is one of the best things for them to eat, it is not the most sustainable._

_But they feast on other things._

_Misery._

_Suffering._

_Magic. Energy._

_Magic and misery, misery and magic, although fuel them a little less than the meat of a human body, fuel them enough to get going. Magical energy even moreso; when the human suffers on very little energy, it will cave in on itself. Making it easier to feast on misery._

_Making it easier, perhaps, to eat the flesh. If a human is pushed far enough it can implode._

_It is joyous to watch such an event, just like watching a star collapse in on itself._

_It smells misery, coming from the brick building that the tall boy lives in. There are grand iron bars outside the window that it believes is where the tall boy sleeps at night._

_It hears raucous laughter often, when it hides in the shadows of late afternoon. There are many children under this roof. All of them have bits of misery and suffering-- no family, alone, no family, orphan. Orphanage._

_It doesn’t know why it spends so much time hunting down prey when there was a feast sitting in front of it like this the entire time! Its stomach growls for misery it smells._

_It needs to be a smart hunter. It needs to be smart._

_It hides in the shadows and watches._

* * *

He tries to remember as much as he can of the past two weeks, but it’s hard to when so much happens, especially when he has such a poor memory as he does.

But Ranboo writes it down. It’s not the smartest, or the wisest, to write it all down. No younger children come into his rooms, but every now and then a sister will pop their head into his room and make sure it’s clean and tidy, or to check on his studies, and make sure he’s focused on what he needs to do. He can’t write when one of them is in there.

He’s.

He’s afraid.

He’s afraid of what the sisters will do with his journal. It’s not a fear he’s ever had to deal with-- anxiety about other kids finding it and reading it aloud and laughing, sure. But he’s on his own in a single room that locks at night with a chair under the doorknob and a bell tied to a string above it that will certainly wake up at least one of the light-sleeping children in the hall. 

He’s afraid that they won’t let him see his friends again.

But he has to write it down, anyway. For once, he’s fervorous in writing down details of his life because for once he doesn’t want to forget. He wants to remember so badly.

 _Tommy showed me the pendant again today. It doesn’t get broken. His brother Techno makes it, with help from his dad, and it’s made of light?? magic. It works at crossroads._ _What do crossroads mean?_

_Tubbo says that his family doesn’t have a magic gift like he does. It happens sometimes, if magic is in the family tree, people do not have it and it can go on for years. He never knew he had magic until he met Tommy._

_Phil says I can come visit still, even with school starting. He knows I live at the orphanage but he keeps it a secret. I think. I hope so. No one’s mentioned it yet to me, which is good. He offers to pick me up at the park, so I don’t think he’s told anyone. He’s nice._

_I think that Phil thinks I have magic, but I don’t._

He pauses at writing the last line.

 _Do I?_ He writes. 

They had been talking in hushed corners of the library. Not a day where the entire orphanage went to check out books and be a distraction for the kids so the sisters could get a breath of peace, instead, as one of the study sessions Tubbo suggested.

It’s the first week of school for them. Ranboo glances out the window. It’s late-summer, but he can smell the changing of seasons in the air. The way the night gets colder, the way the leaves are still green but every now and then a yellow one will fall on their path. 

A slow change. Just like it always was, but this year feels much different to Ranboo already.

He taps his pen on his desk, nervously. The only thing lighting up his room is the old desk lamp. The sky is clear tonight, if he turns off the lamp he might be able to see some stars outside. 

_No, I don’t have magic._ He scribbles out the previous line and adds it in. He would have noticed something sooner. 

But still, he hesitates.

 _Do I?_ It’s a thought, not written out. He shuts his notebook, drops his pen off in his desk and puts his journal in a new hiding place. It’s wedged between his mattress and boxspring. Close enough of a place for him to remember, but also not in the same space he’s had it for years.

Sister Anne could read it. Maybe. Ranboo was never sworn to secrecy, but he still feels guilty. He still feels torn, even though it feels like a new world has opened up to him. 

Ranboo has already written a few pages on how _torn_ he feels. On how it feels like his life is out of balance, all of a sudden. Going to church that Sunday made his skin crawl, even though he did his best to pay attention to the sermon and remember Father Patrick’s words. It still made his skin crawl.

Nothing felt right.

He sighs, and glances out his window. The bars are still up.

He still sleepwalks.

 _Everything will figure itself out one day, right, God?_ He asks.

He doesn’t expect an answer.

* * *

Tuesdays are quiet.

Tuesdays are spent with Sister Joan teaching the younger kids, Sister Marie taking care of the little ones, and Sister Anne cleaning the kitchen, the living room, the playroom-- all rooms that need taken care of constantly, more than just the Saturday mornings spent on chores before play time.

Ranboo knows Tuesdays are quiet especially for him, because Sister Joan doesn’t give him much to do. He’s ahead of what she’s tutoring him in, and she’s also not _that_ qualified to teach older kids. Sure, she has a general basis of things that he needs to know, but at the same time, no one expected someone Ranboo’s age to still be at the orphanage. 

It’s a little experimental. They still are trying to figure out what to do with him. Which is fine. It just means every Tuesday, he has a little less work to do. Over the summer it was the day that he would go to the park, visit his friends. 

But it’s raining. 

The leaves are changing a little more, bit by bit, but the world hasn’t completely turned beautiful orange-red-yellow hues yet. There are small little piles of leaves kicked up by the younger kids whenever they go outside, but they don’t often stay. Either Lou gets to them first, or the autumnal breeze carries them away.

He needs to move. A part of him is telling him to _move,_ so he gets up from his desks and stretches his legs and gets out of the stuffy bedroom he’s in for too many long hours hunched over his desk looking at math homework.

Ranboo can hear the murmur of students in the chapel-- they’re not the quietest class to teach. He remembers how awful it was for Sister Joan to manage all the kids-- all the way on the second floor. He goes down the stairs anyway, carefully. Any creak could be seen as a distraction, and in a house as old as this, there were many creaks in every step of the floorboard.

The living room is empty. The old, tubed television is still up against the wall like it usually is. If he shuffles his way over there, he could probably feel the static electricity leftover from the news station that Sister Marie had on that morning, of the weather. To see how long this rain would last.

The whole week, apparently.

He feels his hairs stand up just going close to it, but he glances out the window next to it. It’s raining, just as the weather predicted. 

And that’s when he feels _something._ Something pull at his core, something cold, and it fills up his entire being with ice. He feels something, and he hears something in the kitchen fall.

Ranboo doesn’t think.

He doesn’t think when he pokes his head out of the living room. “Hello?” He asks, his voice shaky, but he doesn’t get a response. His heart sinks, and he slides over to the kitchen.

And the world feels like it’s going in slow-motion, but everything is also going too quickly.

He’s at her side in a minute, trying to help her up. “Si-- Sister Anne?”

She’s fallen to the ground. Her eyes are half-lidded, she’s still warm, but she isn’t responding to him. She’s not responding.

“Sister Anne! Sister Anne, are you okay?”

Still no response.

His body is like ice, but his cries are louder as he fumbles for his cellphone to call for help. 

* * *

Sister Marie hears him scream.

She runs into the kitchen, babies long forgotten, and she gasps at the sight in front of her. Ranboo isn’t sure what he looks like, from a different perspective, but he has 9-1-1 on the phone and he’s trying to get the address to them in calm breaths. 

Sister Anne’s head is on his lap, cushioned from the fall. There isn’t any blood. On the outside. 

He can’t imagine what’s happening on the inside. 

Thankfully, Sister Marie is able to give the responder the address, and stays on the line as Ranboo keeps trying to talk to Sister Anne.

She isn’t responding. 

* * *

Sister Joan is the one who keeps the children calm as the ambulance comes in. 

Sister Agnes hops in the ambulance with a drained look on her face.

It’s the most emotion he’s ever seen on Sister Agnes’ face.

* * *

Ranboo gets a ride to the hospital with Sister Marie. The younger children are confused at what’s happening, and Sister Joan is trying to keep them together in a van all on her own. Sister Agnes is already there.

Sister Marie has been crying. Ranboo recognizes the streaks of tears running down her cheeks, because they mirror his, as well.

“She’s not going to make it, is she?” He asks as they hit an intersection.

Sister Marie isn’t the _best_ driver. She’s speedy and she’s rather chaotic on the road for a nun, and always pulls the nun card if a police officer pulls her over. And gets away with it.

“She… No.” Sister Marie wipes a tear away, her eyes still locked on the road. “If you hadn’t-- if you hadn’t found her when she did, we wouldn’t be able to go say goodbye to her before she goes.”

 _Ah._ Ranboo nods.

His mouth is dry.

It’s the worst feeling he’s ever had. He’s never-- he’s never lost someone. He’s never had to grieve. When he was left on the orphanage, it’s off the assumption that his parents are gone, too, but he’s never _mourned_ them before. Maybe mourned the possibilities that they could have had, mourned the family that he could have been a part of, but never mourned for their lives. He’d wonder if they would mourn him if they were still alive, but he was left on the doorsteps of an orphanage with nothing but a card with his name on it and a t-shirt too many sizes too big for him, in the middle of a storm in the middle of the night.

They don’t mourn for him. They left him.

But he’s never lost someone. The younger kids come and go and leave as they do at an orphanage. When he was younger, it felt like losing someone, like losing a friend, but as he got older, he became more, more, more… numb to it all.

He pulls his arms in closer to his chest. He still feels like he’s made of ice.

Sister Marie puts the heat on a bit more. The windshield wipers are going at a pace Ranboo can’t keep up with, but it’s the best thing for his mind to focus on at the moment. 

* * *

Ranboo decides he doesn’t like hospitals when he enters one. They’re incredibly bright, sterile places-- which is the point, to be clean to help people who are sick-- but he doesn’t like them. Maybe it’s all about the context of it, but his stomach churns as Sister Marie walks up to the receptionist desk to find out which way the room is that Sister Agnes and Sister Anne are in, and the chipper response that she gets from the receptionist.

Even though it’s obvious what they’re-- _who_ they’re there for. It isn’t a big town, it isn’t a big hospital-- it’s a miracle that a town this small has its own independent hospital to care for everyone-- and word travels fast in small hospitals.

They get the directions, and Ranboo follows behind Sister Marie, quietly. 

“They say she can still hear everything that we say to her, but she won’t be able to respond for much… Longer.” Sister Marie takes a pained breath as they get to the end of a hallway. “Father Patrick has been here and she’s been given her last rites, now all that's left is…”

 _To say goodbye,_ goes unsaid. 

_To say goodbye,_ goes unsaid as they approach the door. The rooms have small little windows into it, and Ranboo feels a chill down his already-cold spine as he can peer in and see Sister Agnes holding Sister Anne’s hand tenderly. 

Sister Agnes looks like she’s aged at least twenty years-- and she was rather old and wrinkled to begin with, seeing her juxtaposed with the peaceful form of the younger nun next to her made his stomach churn again.

He knows it’s empty. He’s lucky that it was only Sister Marie who saw him throw up in the kitchen sink. But it churns anyway. 

Sister Marie lets out a shuddered breath, before opening the door. The sound alerts Sister Agnes, who looks up with bloodshot eyes.

“Marie-- and, oh, Ranboo. Hello.”

“How is she, Agnes?” Marie asks, quickly crossing the room to be by the elder nun’s side. She rubs small circles into her back, just like she had done with Ranboo earlier.

Was it hours earlier? Minutes?

Time feels weird. Time feels frozen but also going by too quickly. The sun has set but he doesn’t know the time anymore. He can’t tear his eyes away from Sister Anne.

She’s peaceful. She’s always been the calm, peaceful type, but all the jovial energy she had before is gone, and replaced by something that doesn’t feel real. 

Something that doesn’t feel real at all.

He approaches slowly, feeling like an intrusion, but also he can’t look away from one of his caregivers.

“Well, she’s passing on soon, I’m sure.” Sister Agnes responds. “But the doctors say-- she’s not in any pain.”

“A stroke, then?” Sister Marie says.

“Yes. Sudden. None of us would have ever expected it.” Sister Agnes looks up at Ranboo, and waves him over. He crosses the room slowly and quietly, and stands next to her as Sister Marie moves out of the way.

She rests a hand on his arm-- the same one that Tubbo had grabbed, all those weeks ago. It’s still a little sore, but her touch is gentler, at least. “If it wasn’t for you finding her, Ranboo… Well, I’m sure you’ve already been told.”

He nods. He doesn’t want to talk. Sister Agnes nods back, and stands up. Even at her full height, she barely comes up to his chest. 

“Do you want a moment alone with her, Ranboo?” She asks.

“S-Sure.” He didn’t. He didn’t want to be alone and face this.

But he didn’t want to be left alone on the steps of an orphanage, so he doesn’t have much say of what happens to him in his life, does he?

Sister Marie nods at this, and grabs the older nun’s hand as they step out of the room for a minute, shutting the door behind him with a click.

Ranboo sits in the chair, and looks at Sister Anne.

She’s peaceful. She looks like she’s sleeping. But he knows she isn’t.

What was the last thing he said to her that morning? _Thank you for breakfast,_ for the pancakes she’d tenderly made for the entire household. She looked fine at the time. 

He never could have expected that this is how his day would have gone.

He shakily reaches out and touches her hand. There’s a bit of movement there-- a bit of a grip back-- but not much, and it faded as soon as he felt it. 

What should he say? What was the last thing he should say to one of the women who helped raise him as she’s dying and there’s nothing anybody could do?

“T-thank you,” he manages out. His voice cracks on every syllable, but he forces it out anyway, as loud as it can go, “for everything. Even-- even though you were helping more often with the younger kids, you still had time for me. I-- I won’t forget that. I won’t forget _you_.”

 _And he won’t,_ he thinks with a shuddering gasp. 

He squeezes her hand again. It’s colder than when he found her, he realizes. He says a prayer-- _the Lord’s prayer--_ under his shaky, shaky breath, before letting go of her hand to wipe away the tears that are burning his cheeks.

Sister Agnes takes that as her moment to walk in, flanked by Sister Marie.

She’s holding something. 

As Sister Marie takes Ranboo’s seat, to say her final goodbye, before she has to go to the lobby to deal with Sister Joan and the children that are bound to be arriving soon, Sister Agnes pulls him out of the room by the sleeve.

She extends her hand out and drops something into Ranboo’s hands.

It’s a chain-- a golden chain. Ranboo recognizes it as the golden cross he’s seen Sister Anne wear every day. 

“She wasn’t able to say much when we got here, but.” Sister Agnes takes a breath. “She wanted you to have her cross. That’s the last thing she was able to get out.”

“Oh.”

“It’s going to be hard, Ranboo. I’m sorry.” Sister Agnes turns to the door again. They can see Marie praying over Sister Anne. “It won’t get easier.”

“I know.” He says, rubbing his finger gently over the golden cross. It’s engraved with little wood details. It feels weird.

“But you’re strong, Ranboo.” Sister Agnes says. “Even if you don’t think you are, you’re incredibly strong and brave. And a good kid.” She smiles at him, squeezes his arm again.

He doesn’t feel incredibly strong and brave and good. He feels-- he feels numb and empty and weak and like he’s going to buckle under it all any second. But he nods, takes the compliment, and watches as Sister Marie gets up from her prayer and walks back out.

* * *

It’s a bit of a struggle to get the clasp together, but he puts on the golden cross in the second-floor bathroom of the hospital. He only dropped it twice to get it around his neck.

It rests comfortably between his collarbones underneath his polo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the feedback from the last chapter! I feel a little bit better knowing that I'm balancing things well-- and this isn't a 100% hit-piece on Christianity or religion in general. I'm portraying a bit of an extreme side of it, but "It Gets Better", as the tags say. Eventually.  
>    
> _Also you guys got like 50 comments in one day what the HECK--_
> 
> The idea for this chapter came to me at 2am the other night with a bunch of other ideas. I had the thought and went "oh, that'll break people", wrote it down, went back to sleep. When I woke up again, I read the note and went "yeah, this is it."
> 
> So, um. Yeah.
> 
> ANYWAY, DID YOU GUYS SEE PERSERVERANCE ON MARS?? THAT WAS SO COOL!! I LOVE SPACE SO MUCH, HAHAHA. I HOPE YOU GUYS HAVE A NICE DAY/NIGHT AND I'LL SEE YOU NEXT CHAPTER :)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/cosmonaughtt)


	8. The FUN in FUNERAL Really Doesn't Have A Right To Exist Like That, In My Opinion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> content warning:**
> 
> **\- death mentions/funeral  
> **  
>  \- mentions of child abuse

Funerals shouldn’t start with the word “fun”, Ranboo thinks, to distract himself from the reception.

Sister Anne-- _Anne_ \-- she didn’t have much of a family, he learns. There was a brother, and a small family, but none of them were strictly religious anymore. But her brother still came, and with him came his wife, and with his wife came no children, no _grand_ children, because the children never really got to know their aunt.

Which is sad.

But very relatable.

Which is also very _sad,_ but he doesn’t think about that.

His suit and tie are a bit messed up. It’s just his Sunday clothes and his usual tie, but he’s holding his jacket because the day was particularly humid and sunny out, summer’s last attack before hibernating for the next year. His tie is crooked, misshapen, awful, but Sister Anne would always be the one to help fix his ties.

Which. She couldn’t fix his tie anymore.

He’s away from everyone else. The younger kids were grouped together awkwardly, at the small table of snacks that Father Patrick and the rest of the church workers were able to provide for them afterwards, small little crackers and cheese and meats and a bowl of fruit punch. No one has yet to spill any fruit punch on their best clothes, which he’s counting as Sister Anne watching them from up in heaven and as a _miracle_. The other nuns are talking to Sister Anne’s brother, more about… Well, what they would do with her.

When he overheard that conversation, Ranboo decided to _nope_ out of there immediately, and he’s leaning against the wall outside as the sun burns rather brightly on a Thursday early afternoon.

He’s left alone to his thoughts.

He realizes that he’d rather not forget the funeral itself. It was the most peaceful thing he’s ever been to, from seeing Sister Anne lying peacefully in the coffin to the eulogy that her brother had given in tears full of regret.

He doesn’t remember the words very well. _I only wish that I hadn’t pulled away from her, and that my children and grandchildren had gotten to know how beautiful of a souls he was._

No one else was there. No former children who had been adopted out had come-- or, maybe, they hadn’t been notified in the first place. He had expected a few of them to show, but with the sudden flip of attitude on the side of all the Sisters, Ranboo…

… He didn’t know what to expect anymore.

He glances down at his small glass. It’s plastic, more or less, but it’s clear, and he took some fruit punch from the bowl before anyone could make a mess, yet he hasn’t taken a sip of it at all.

Even in the heat of the sun, he still feels cold and numb.

It had happened suddenly-- he had to help out as much as he could the day before, as Sister Agnes and Sister Marie had to work out funeral arrangements with the church and how Sister Anne’s life would be honored, and remembered, which left just one nun to take care of eleven children (including him), so he got put on babysitting duty.

It was like the summer, where he would be told to watch the kids when they played in the plastic kiddie pool in the backyard, but it was much colder. No one did anything, they only took the kids to the basement and put on the same, old, animated VHS church films that he’s seen plenty of times over and could probably recite from heart, along with a few toys and a few books.

Locking the children up while the adults dealt with adult things-- not the best strategy, but Ranboo supposes, no one can think straight enough to think through these things. Least of all the adults.

Some of the kids understood-- sort-of-- what was happening. They had barely been able to see Sister Anne in her last moments before the doctors had to come in and finally let her go. The kids had been ushered out, some without being able to even say goodbye.

Ranboo is very thankful that Sister Marie allowed him to ride with her, or he might never have been able to say his own goodbye.

The golden cross is still around his neck. He hasn’t taken it off since Tuesday night. He’s gotten into the habit of playing with the chain when he’s nervous or anxious, but he can’t reach it under his buttoned-up shirt. 

If he focuses on it, he can feel it. 

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, wincing at how cold his hands are. Despite the heat. The icy feeling that sunk into him hasn’t disappeared yet, even though everything, for him, is technically done.

He doesn’t know if he’ll never _not_ be cold again.

Even if Ranboo’s body feels warm, like it does, standing out in the sunlight like he is, he still feels cold.

He wonders when it will get easier.

* * *

_The misery gets even more delectable._

_It hadn’t attacked, it hadn’t gotten too close to any human in the house except for the tall boy, whose room it first hid in, but one of the older humans had died of natural causes._

_It could’ve gotten a good bite or two in, too, if the tall boy hadn’t stumbled in. Shame, shame, but it does not mind._

_The misery that comes after is even more delicious than anything fresh it’s ever had._

_It considers, for a second, saving the misery, bringing it back to the den, but its gluttony wins over._

_It watches the children play with less energy than they’ve had before. It listens to the sounds that come out of the tall boy’s strange device attached to his ears that are loud enough for it to hear, and wonders what he listens to._

_Children are easy prey, but they’re in too many numbers. The tall boy knows of its existence, even if he doesn’t know it is there, in the shadows of his room._

_But the adults?_

_The adults are f a i r g a m e._

_It waits in the shadows of the hall, after the tall boy is locked in his room at night. The adult woman who walks away, stuffing the key in a pocket on her dress, doesn’t notice it._

_No one can notice Dreamons that well when they’re hunting._

_It watches the adult and feels the misery reeking off of it and it doesn’t hesitate. Its stomach growls too loud, it wants more, more, more more more more_ **_more more more_ **

**It pounces.**

* * *

Everyone doesn’t like how Sister Agnes is suddenly more involved in, well. 

Everything.

She once existed as a measly head. One you would not see unless you really got in trouble, and then it was a ruler, or something much worse, coming your way. She didn’t get involved in the raising of children much at all. She ran paperwork, she met with the parents, she did the finances and took care of budgeting and everything else so that the other nuns could focus on raising and teaching the children.

She didn’t feel real sometimes, but she would appear every now and then, to get dinner to take to her office, or on Sundays when they went to church, or any holiday that they celebrated. 

She was there, but she wasn’t _there_ -there.

And then she was.

It makes sense that she would have to get more involved. A lot of roles shifted around. Sister Joan, who focused on teaching the children, balanced making meals more often, taking over Sister Marie’s job. Sister Marie cared for the youngest, Helena, who was beginning to learn how to walk and talk already. 

Sister Agnes took care of the rest. She would help clean, she would help Joan make dinner so it wasn’t awful, burnt meatloaf every night, and more importantly, she dealt with all the discipline that Joan and Anne would once balance.

Which was the _bad_ part.

Ranboo wonders, as the lock to his door clicks and he hears the chair get pushed up against his door, what had happened to her in her lifetime that made her such a way. She was strict, she expected all his work to be completely done and correct before he made his way anywhere in the house, and even wanted to start assigning him _more_ work.

_Idle hands are the devil's workshop,_ echoes through his mind. It makes sense why he’s getting more work assigned, since he had been getting through most of his work because there was nothing else to do in the _damn_ orphanage--

Oh.

Ranboo catches his thought.

He’d never thought of the orphanage like _that_ before. He was a little annoyed, sometimes, but Sister Anne was always there to help him channel negative thoughts into more constructive ones. 

She was his rock. She was everyone’s rock-- not just his, he can’t claim Sister Anne as his own. Everyone went to Sister Anne when they had a problem. She was the mediator, the level ground, the one that even the other sisters would turn to when something had gone awry. She was everyone’s rock, and now the entire tower that had been built up was shaking and about to tumble down.

He writes that down in his journal, fiddling with her necklace. It’s his necklace, now, technically, since she had mumbled it to Sister Agnes in one of her dying breaths.

He wonders what exactly she said as her last words.

* * *

Sister Agnes forgets, sometimes.

Everyone is human and everyone forgets, he understands that. He’s trying to understand that.

But sometimes it would be nice to wake up in the morning and not have to knock on his door or the wall to be let out of his room.

* * *

He tells Tommy and Tubbo a half-truth, a half-lie. An omission. 

He feel awful saying it.

**_RANBOO:_ ** **Sorry if I go silent for a little bit. Something big happened and I don’t know when I can leave again.**

They sent lovely responses. Or, well, Tubbo did. Tommy just said _get well, bitch_ , just as Tommy does, but it was still meaningful to him.

Their library study sessions would have to be put on hold, so soon into the school year. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d let him go out after a little bit.

They can’t go back to the old normal.

That’s impossible.

_Maybe, we just need to make a new normal,_ Ranboo thinks, setting his phone down as music plays into his headphones.

* * *

He doesn’t like the new normal. 

* * *

Ranboo really, really, _really_ does not like the new normal.

It’s quieter. The hushed laughter he would hear at night from other rooms is all but silent, only replaced by playing the music off his phone that’s gotten stale and dull. He can only listen to _My Lighthouse_ only so many times before the entire song sounds stale like… Like a stale piece of bread.

But he’s not going to try and download any more music. Not when… Well.

Sister Agnes exists. 

She’s gotten worse.

Ranboo hurts, still, from the grief of Sister Anne’s death. From finding her, from the gift that hangs limply around his neck, from the icy cold that’s spread through his limbs, to the numb, empty thoughts he has when he’s not focusing on schoolwork.

Hurt drives pain in people.

And sometimes, he thinks, pain makes people hurt other people.

Which is what Sister Agnes is starting to do.

He hadn’t noticed it much, at first. Sometimes she would be a little too strict in punishment. Cleaning the bathroom, from top to bottom, scrubbing every inch of it until she’s happy and the kids hands go raw. Rulers upgraded to small rods on the hands of anyone misbehaving. Knuckles would be turned pink and red and _bruise_ a little bit, if a kid spoke a little too loud or got into a fight with another or spilled something and made a mess.

Even if some of them were accidental.

Ranboo knew that she used rulers to keep the kids in line-- the phantom stings on his own knuckles showed that, too-- but it was escalating.

Forgetting to unlock his door more often was _also_ a thing that he wasn’t enjoying very much.

He would get up and stretch his legs and wonder what predicament he got into the night before, asleep with half of his body in one of his dressers or hanging off his bed or leaned up next to the door, the doorknob in hand (that one scared him), and when he woke up, he was used to the door being unlocked.

Sometimes Sister Marie would remember and rush up and unlock the door for Ranboo before breakfast.

But when it happened it was usually in the middle of breakfast, or if one of the younger kids heard Ranboo knocking on the door to get out, and they would go get someone.

He didn’t like that.

He snuck a few snacks-- snacks that weren’t to be touched during snack-time, he knew, but he did it anyway-- to keep in the dresser of his night table.

_In case he’s forgotten about again._ It’s pathetic, he thinks, his legs curled up on his bed when he wakes up at five in the morning one day and can’t fall back asleep. It’s pathetic that the one with memory problems is forgotten about. 

* * *

**_RANBOO:_ ** **I should be good this Thursday for studying!**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **yayyyyy that’s great!!**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **finally!!!1!1!**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **math has sucked w/o ur help**

**_RANBOO:_ ** **Well, glad that I’m useful, then =)**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **who tf types emojis like that**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **let him be, toms.**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **no**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **i s2g tommy--**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **also if its cool w ur folks Phil said u could come for dinner**

**_TOMMY:_ ** **ranboo**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **yeah!! taco THURSDAY!!!**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **it’s usually techno who cooks so it’s never bad, dw ranboo haha**

**_TUBBO:_ ** **...ranboo?**

* * *

The icy feeling is spreading through his limbs, and it’s not just cold anymore, its the sort of cold he would imagine feeling on the highest point on Mount Everest. It’s colder than he’s ever felt before, and his mouth feels dry and his arms are shaking and he can’t-- he can’t--

\-- he can’t find his journal.

It was in a constantly changing place. When he first learned about magic ( _sin sin sin evil sin,_ he thinks to himself but pushes those thoughts away) he had written it down in his journal.

Because he didn’t want to forget.

And he wrote about it _all_ , because he didn’t want to forget about any of it. It was a form of escapism, for him, if he truly thought about it. Something interesting to think about when normal life got dull and ordinary. 

And it was stashed in a constantly changing place because he knew that his caregivers, the nuns, the Sisters, would, for the lack of better terms, _freak out_ if they found it and read it.

So Ranboo put it under his pillow one night. The next morning, he’d hide it in his closet. Then his desk drawer, underneath the previous ones. Between his mattress and boxspring. Underneath his underwear in his drawer. Rotating randomly, hoping that he’d actually keep the memory of where it was, and not forget where he put it.

But he can’t-- he can’t--

He can’t find it.

He’s torn his room apart, already. It’s getting late, but not late enough for his door to be locked and the chair to be moved. It’s almost time for dinner, and he was out on a walk for the afternoon. It was a nice Wednesday, the autumn leaves were really starting to change and fall. He didn’t meet up with friends, it was a day to leave him to his own thoughts.

It's been two weeks since Sister Anne’s funeral. Almost two weeks. Two weeks the next day. It was going to be-- well, hopefully, a better day. He’d just texted that he was down for studying again with Tubbo and Tommy at the library, and he’d even been asked if he could go over to their place for dinner. That was nice.

He was going to ask Sister Marie after dinner about it. She wasn’t as intimidating as Joan, or terrifying as Agnes, and she was in a pretty good mood the whole day, so he hoped it would’ve been safe. Sister Anne would deal with that, but she--

She can’t, anymore. So he has to go for the least-intimidating now.

But he couldn’t find his journal. 

He throws his sheets back up on the bed, not caring about the mess that they’re in, and looks through his desk drawer again. The previous journals are stacked up on his desk chair, out of the way, but no matter how many times he looks, he can’t find it in the desk drawer.

Ranboo’s thoughts are turbulent next to the prayer he keeps sending upward. He’s thinking it, he’s mumbling it under his lips-- one of the first prayers he was able to memorize, despite his poor memory, because Sister Anne taught it to him one night when he’d lost something that he can’t remember and it helped him.

He thinks. 

_Dear Saint Anthony, please come around, something is lost and can’t be found. Please come around, something is lost and can’t be found. Something is lost and can’t be found._

It isn’t on his desk. Even though he keeps praying and hoping it’ll materialize before him, and he can just nervously laugh, and pretend nothing happened, and get ready for dinner.

But he can’t find it. 

_Dear Saint Anthony, please I pray, bring it back without delay. Please. Please bring it back. Please. Something is lost and can’t be found._

He can’t find it.

He hears the echo of _dinner’s ready_ come from downstairs. The sound of loud footsteps-- running, but not quite, to not upset Sister Agness- passing his door. It’s cracked open, and he can see the shadows of the younger kids as their stomachs growl and hunger for their nightly meal.

Ranboo sighs, glancing around his room again. He’s torn it apart, and tried to put it back together. Sister Agnes checks rooms on Fridays. It was Wednesday. He would be fine to leave it in disarray, wouldn’t he? He would just eat dinner as quickly as he could, clean up as fast as possible, and put it back together before tearing his room apart again.

Maybe Saint Anthony would find it for him and leave it on his bed for when he got back from dinner. Maybe Saint Anthony was just-- teaching him a little patience. Maybe Saint Anthony was looking out for him-- _he’d looked at Saint Anthony for his saint name for his confirmation, which he thought was oddly fitting and ironic. And it’s one of the few saints he can remember well, which is also ironic--_

His thoughts are cut off when he turns around. 

There, at the door. 

Sister Agnes stands.

Holding a green composition notebook. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLD ON EVERYONE, WE'RE ABOUT TO BE GOING THROUGH A STORM, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE AN EXIT BUDDY, BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELTS, THESE NEXT FEW CHAPTERS ARE GOING TO GET DARK!!!!
> 
> Anyway hi. Ranboo raising $20,000+ for the Trevor Project and breaking twitch records? That's amazing. He's really cool-- what a good kid. :D
> 
> Last chapter I really broke you guys, sorry about that, but it was. Um. A necessary evil for character development and plot progression? Yeah. :) But the dreamon had NOTHING to do with her death, it was just one of those sudden things. 
> 
> I did get a lot of joy in seeing everyone's comments on that chapter. Like, maybe a little sadistic joy, but it makes my heart warm that my writing was able to elicit emotions like that. Even I Got emotional writing that chapter and I normally don't cry at sad stuff in books or anything. I was worried that not being able to write for months was going to make my writing bad and awful, but I think it's a little good. I can have a little bit of self-confidence in my writing. As a treat. 
> 
> FOR THIS CHAPTER;  
> A lot of things are happening that Ranboo doesn't know about yet and I haven't shared with you-- as is the nature of writing from a limited POV with only slight intermissions with this dreamon now, but Ranboo doesn't know a lot of things or what's going on. Nor do Tommy and Tubbo. But they should be back soon!
> 
> This is stuff I started putting into plans when the first chapter was published and I realized, well heck, I have an actual story that won't go away and not just a sudden burst of writing inspiration. So I'm excited to see what you guys think of it! No abuse will get physically worse than it's already been mentioned, don't worry. But emotionally? Have a lot of tissues. 
> 
> ALSO pls remember I don't plan on having this be outright attacky on Christians or Religion. It's a few chapters that show the worst of it, but the tag "It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better" is there. It exists. It's present. It gets better. It always gets better. Trust me <3
> 
> Anyway, see you next time :)


	9. Everything Is Still Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **  
> **  
> content warning:
> 
> **\- there's a bit of emotional abuse/manipulation, some flashbacks to previous bullying incidents and punishment. nothing graphic.**

The clock in the hallway doesn’t have a right to tick loudly, Ranboo thinks, staring at Sister Agnes.

Even though he can’t recognize her face at all-- he tries to avoid it, by looking at her eyebrows, the mole on her face that stands out the most, the air around her head, back down to the notebook she held-- he stands still, looking at her.

She looks back at him, holding the notebook. 

_ Tick, tock.  _ With his door wide open, the sound of the grandfather clock that he usually tunes out is deafening. 

He doesn’t know what to say. His mind goes blank for a second.

“You-- you found my journal.”

Sister Agnes holds it tightly. She doesn’t have a ruler. But Ranboo is still afraid, and feels himself shrink down on himself.

“Yes. Yes, I did.” Her grip is iron-tight on the binding of the journal. “Under your pillow, like it always has been.”

“Ah.” He didn’t move it from its spot-- she.

Oh.

Oh,  _ Sister Agnes took my journal,  _ echoes through his head. Bounces.

He’s cold. His hands are sweaty and shaky. He feels like the world is shrinking around him.

_ Tick, tock. _

“I was curious about these boys you said you had met over the summer, at the park.” Sister Agnes starts. She doesn’t move. It’s more foreboding that she doesn’t move, she doesn’t feel real, she feels more two-dimensional than ever before. “Sister Anne told me it was fine for you to make friends, and that, from what she heard, they were two good boys.”

Ranboo gulps. He knows where it’s going  _ but also he doesn’t know what she means _ but he knows what’s coming.

“I put my trust in her. But I was still, admittedly, curious.” She takes a few steps in, her nose crinkles at the pile of sheets up on his bed tangled together, the desk drawer he’s opened and tossed out half the contents of on the floor, the dresser drawer hanging open. “It’s my duty here to keep all of you children safe and make sure you grow into men and women of God, Ranboo. That’s what I swore I would do to the Bishop.” She opens his notebook.

His memories flood back. Bad memories.  _ Young boys whispering and giggling at night. He wakes up slowly, but when he turns his head, they’re holding flashlights over a notebook. His journal. Making fun of his writing, his handwriting, how he can’t remember anything.  _

_ He yelps in shock, and the other boys gasp loudly, too, and the light flickers out to darkness. It blinds him a bit. _

_ “Give it back!” He cries out, blinking through the darkness of the room. _

_ More laughter. It’s thrown, it hits him in the face. Nothing breaks, but it stings. _

“It was a very interesting day, one I don’t want to forget.” Sister Agnes reads his words aloud. Taunting him. “Tommy and Tubbo and I were at the park, when we were attacked by something that wasn’t a squirrel like I thought.” 

He’s shaking. His legs feel like jelly. They might give out under him.

They do.

His knees are going to bruise after hitting the floor that hard, but he’s not really in control of his body. His anxiety is. His nerves are. Everything else feels like it’s shutting down.

“They were able to get us away, to Tommy’s house. Phil was there. He explained everything to me. Magic exists, apparently. And the thing that attacked us was called a  _ dream _ on.” She pronounces the last word funny, definitely on purpose, in a mocking tone.

_ It’s his first and only time in trouble with Sister Agnes. She’s been called for other troublesome kids, but never Ranboo. _

_ He didn’t want to be on the bad side of the ruler. _

_ But he’s young, and he doesn’t have that much of a filter yet. So when a group of boys start pulling a girl’s hair (he can’t remember names or faces he just knows that this girl is the only blonde they have and that Sister Joan ties her left hand down so she has to write with her write hand) he yells, “Stop it!” _

_ Very loudly. _

_ The boys-- the same boys who make fun of him and take his journal and laugh at how he can’t recognize any of them or remember their names-- turn to him slowly. _

_ It’s also the first and only time he’s ever been in a fight with anyone else, and he loses it before any of them even get a hit in. _

_ Sister Agnes is called in and holds her ruler out, and everyone involved in the fight except for the girl is reprimanded. _

His knuckles still sting, and he rubs them anxiously.

“Ranboo.” He looks up. He can’t look at her eyes, so he looks up. Maybe at God, for forgiveness. He feels like he’s caught in a sin-- which he is.

_ Is he? _

He is.

He should’ve stopped talking to Tommy and Tubbo after the incident. He shouldn’t have written about it to remember. Shouldn’t have bothered to remember. Should’ve let the memory pass on by like a majority of his days.

_ He knows it wouldn’t have, even if he didn’t write it down. Some big things don’t need to be written down for Ranboo to remember. _

“I am sure you understand why I’m upset with you.” She closes his notebook. Doesn’t give it back. Holds it under her arm. “We trusted you, with going on these walks, but I don’t think you’re ready enough to go out and deal with a world full of  _ sin _ like this. You’ve let these people corrupt your brain, and you’ve only known them a few months.”

“‘M sorry.” He mumbles out.

“I am not the one to apologize to. Only the Lord can accept your apology.” Sister Agnes sighs. “Get up.”

He doesn’t.

“Ranboo, get up. Don’t make this worse for yourself.”

He slowly gets off his knees. They’re still a little stiff, will definitely hurt tomorrow, and he brushes off the bit of dirt that he must’ve brought in on his walk and left on the hardwood floors. 

“Come with me.”

He follows Sister Agnes. His thoughts are empty, he doesn’t think of anything else except how  _ horrible  _ he is.  _ She’s right, she’s right, it’s bad, I should’ve dropped them after that incident, I should’ve-- _

_ \-- Should you?  _ A voice in his head says. It sounds like his, but it doesn’t feel like his.  _ Should you have? The first and only friends you have ever made, not a part of your world? Not a part of this small, small slice of your life at the moment? _

_ No,  _ he thinks.  _ No, I should’ve never spoken to them after the first time my phone got taken away,  _ he thinks. They go down the stairs. He can hear laughter and talking from the dining table. People are already eating.

He doesn’t feel hungry. Even his stomach is full of ice.

Sister Agnes leads him through the kitchen, through to the backyard.

There’s a small fire pit. Lou stands by it, looking sheepish, but doing as he’s told. A small fire is lit up.

_ Oh. Oh, this isn’t good. _

Sister Agnes hands Ranboo the book. “I’m sure you’ve pieced together what you need to do, right? Ranboo, you’re incredibly smart, and I’m sure the Lord will forgive you when you ask. But you also need to learn that actions…” She glances over to the small fire. “... have consequences.”

Ranboo nods.

“Please, talk. I don’t want you to be mute now, too.”

“Yes ma’am.” He says. 

He grips onto the notebook. What had he written in there?  _ The dreamon encounter. Pages of books he was sneaking through at the library when studying with Tommy and Tubbo. _

_ Sister Anne. _

He didn’t want to forget Sister Anne.

He didn’t-- he didn’t want to forget her. She would exist in memories of old journals, but he didn’t want to forget Sister Anne or, heck, he didn’t even want to forget her death because he was  _ there _ for her and there to help, and she gave him her cross necklace, and she--

He didn’t want to forget anything.

“Well?” Sister Agnes says.

“I-- I don’t want to forget a-anything.” He mumbles out, pulls the journal a little closer. Molten tears streak down his cheeks. 

“Oh, Ranboo.” Sister Agnes approaches. Gives him an awkward side-hug. “What are you scared of forgetting?” She looks back at the fire. “The sins you’ve committed? The mistakes you’ve made? The Lord will allow you to keep the memories, I’m sure.”

Ranboo doesn’t think so. He thinks-- well, he thinks the memory issue is something that isn’t related to God at all. He thinks it’s like his sleepwalking and face blindness. Just something about him that he was born with, or something that’s an issue that should be addressed but isn’t being addressed.

“I don’t want anything else to catch fire, Ranboo.” She grabs on the journal in his possession and pulls. Harder than he would expect, but he’s also pretty weak, and very out of everything at the moment. “I will personally drive you to confession tomorrow morning. This can be resolved very easily.”

Sister Agnes throws the journal into the flames.

He yelps out, in surprise, but it’s drowned out by the tears that are rolling down his face and the awkward shuffle Lou does to get the house to contain the fire and Sister Agnes looking at him, daring him to make any more noise. 

He bites down hard on his lip, and turns around and goes back into the house. He notices the younger kids had piled up at the bay window in the kitchen to watch, but doesn’t acknowledge anything.

He goes up to his bedroom. He shuts the door behind him.

Doesn’t wait for the lock. 

Falls on top of the knotted bedsheets.

Buries his face into the pillow.

And sobs. Quietly. Silently.

It’s a good skill to have, unfortunately.

* * *

_ Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with ye. _

He tightens his grip on his hands. He has the wooden rosary, again. His penance is rather simple, he thinks, for what sins he’s done--

_ But did you really sin?  _ He asks himself, in the back of his head.  _ Did you really sin? Or were you just… existing? _

_ What would Sister Anne think? _

Ah. He lost track of his place, again. He flinches at it, and tries to remember where he left out.

The church is empty. There’s only the light of the sun coming through, an echo of footsteps on old wood behind him from Father Patrick leaving after praying some himself. Sister Agnes has left him at the church for the next few hours. 

So he’s alone with his penance, his thoughts, and God.

_ What _ would _ Sister Anne think?  _ He wonders, focus on the prayer long gone. His poor memory, probably.  _ She would probably be angry. Angry? She’s never been angry. But I think she would’ve been angry to see that. _

The other nuns didn’t say anything that morning. At least Sister Agnes remembered to unlock the door. He grabbed a bowl of cereal and an orange, quietly, before the other younger kids woke up, and slipped out of the house with the eldest nun before anyone noticed.

Seven in the morning. His mind is still a little foggy, from a lot of things. Lack of sleep.

He woke up twice, mid-sleepwalk. Once at the window, in the middle of opening it (the cold, harsh breeze woke him up), second time at the door, trying to pull on the doorknob to open it. 

From the night before.

The notebook had been burned to ashes. He had seen it in the trash can in the kitchen, getting rid of his orange peel. There was a bit of a page left, crumpled up.

No one watched when he pulled it out and unraveled it.

It only had his scribbles.  _...magic.  _

He shoved it in his pocket and deposited the orange peel. It feels like it's burning through the pocket of his jeans in the church like this. 

From, well.

Stress, probably. Stress of everything fogging up his mind. 

_ Oh, right. Hail Mary, full of grace… _

His mind trails off again, almost immediately.

_ Why?  _ He shakes his head, trying to stop any tears from leaking out. It’s not too successful.  _ Why did this have to happen? Why did she have to take my journal? Why did she have to burn it? _

_ Why do I have to say goodbye to my friends? _

He doesn’t get a chance to say goodbye to his friends. He still had his phone, but Sister Agnes blocked their numbers. He doesn’t want to get in more trouble if he tries to unblock them, but he sometimes feels small, phantom vibrations in his pocket, as if he’s received a message.

_ Why do I ruin everything I touch?  _

He sniffles again, stops praying to wipe the tears away. He feels incredibly, incredibly alone.

It’s then he realizes that, without his friends, he has no one left. Not a single soul. The sisters will provide for him, give him food and a shelter, but he doesn’t have a single friend. No one to confide in. No one to laugh with.

He’s so… He’s so alone.

Another wave of grief mixed with sadness mixed with anger threatens to overwhelm him, so he clasps his hands together over the rosary again.

_ HailMaryfullofgracetheLordiswithye-- _

A nudge on his shoulder. He looks up.

A random man is awkwardly holding a box of tissues to him.

“T-Thanks.” It’s barely a whisper. 

The man is probably as old as the sisters, with awful balding and an even stranger beard that falls down his chest. It’s pure white and sort-of curly. He’s wearing a flannel with a vest, and by all accounts, looks like he just got back from  _ hunting _ somewhere.

“No problem, kid.” He has a southern accent. He takes a seat next to him in the pews-- not too close, but he does sit down. At least he respects personal boundaries. “Dunno what a kid as young as you is doin’ in this place, but at least have some tissues if you’re gonna be sobbin’, eh?” He chuckles.

Ranboo nods. He sits back up in the pew and takes a tissue to wipe the tears off his cheeks with.

“I, um. I did some bad things. I think.” He isn’t even sure they’re bad things. He isn’t sure of much anymore.

“Ya think?” The man repeats, but not in an accusatory way. It’s a curious way. “Unless you confessed a murder or robbery to Father Patrick, ain’t nothing in the world worth crying over like that.”

Well, no. He didn’t murder or rob anyone. That’s a start, at least.

“Plus, you’re a kid. You’re young, bound to make mistakes.” The man leans back in the pew. “Ain’t nothing to stress about. God forgives everything, always. Even if you feel unforgivable. Even if you feel like a straight-up scum of the earth.”

“Why?”

“Why does God forgive?” The man shrugs. “Dunno. It’s just who He is. Don’t have the time to be wonderin’ about that stuff.” He looks around at the church. 

“Oh.” What a simple way to think about it. Not worrying about all that stuff. Just accepting as it is. Ranboo thinks it would be nice to be able to think like that, but he has essays to write about saints now.  _ Many more essays to write and books to read. And he’s all alone-- _

He grabs another few tissues. Just in case.

“Shouldn’t you be in school right now?”

“I don’t-- I’m homeschooled.” Ranboo replies. He does have so much work to get back to, and now he has to do it all alone--

“Ah, homeschoolin’ might produce good saints, but they hardly ever produce good people. In my opinion.” The man looks back at Ranboo-- not at his eyes, this time. “You feel like a good person right now?” 

He slowly shakes his head.  _ Okay, I think he might be a little… Loose in the head.  _

“I mean, I did just, um. Confess my sins.” He’s trying to focus on the penance, but he can’t focus his thoughts, and now this random man is talking to him and it’s starting to sound like nonsense. Did he pass out in the middle of prayer and he’s having just a really weird dream right now?

“That should be making your soul lighter, not heavier.” He snaps his fingers, and stands up. “You tell whoever brought you here that you finished your penance, and get going, Ranboo.”

“But I didn’t-- wait, how did you--”

He blinks.

The man is gone.

_ What. _ Ranboo blinks again, stands up, and looks around. No one else is in the sanctuary with him. He’s all alone, still.

His pockets still have tissues in them, but he doesn’t want to touch them at all. So he awkwardly ducks out of the church and calls Sister Agnes to pick him up.

* * *

_ Misery is good, it decides, holding onto the nun. _

_ It wonders why its brethren don’t do this more often. Latch onto a miserable person. It feels like infinite energy, just like-- just like its King. _

_ It feels so powerful. It can’t compel the nun to do anything of its own volition, but the little, bad thoughts that she has in the back of her head are amplified. If she acts on them, she acts on them, it doesn’t care. _

_ It creates more misery with all the children. Especially the tall boy. _

_ But it likes the misery from the nun. Too much. _

_ It feels its power grow. _

_ Maybe its brethren will start calling it Prince. _

* * *

It’s a middle-of-the-night idea. Ranboo has a few of these, sometimes. Not all of them are particularly big, or interesting. 

Most of the time it’s a suggestion for dinner. Or breakfast, the next day.  _ Maybe even breakfast for dinner,  _ a novel idea that used to make Sister Anne dance on her toes with excitement. 

Other times it’s a line that comes to him. A random line, a random thought. Silly things. He scribbles it in the back of his notebook. He’s taken a few loose pages from the printer in the office to write stuff down on and shove into the back of an older journal so he remembers something-- especially that weird encounter with the man.

Seriously, what was  _ up _ with that?

But this is bigger than any of the other middle-of-the-night ideas. He’s still awake, despite the beautiful analog clock hauntingly telling him it’s 12:03 AM and he hasn’t been able to sleep a wink yet because his head is incredibly full of thoughts. He also doesn’t want to sleep, because he doesn’t want to wake up in another unfortunate place.

He sits up in his bed. The room is dark, only lit by a little sliver of moonlight, but he carefully slips out of his bed and makes his way to the desk.

He can’t text Tommy or Tubbo anymore. He can’t see them anymore. Their numbers are blocked, Sister Agnes takes his phone every night so he can’t unblock them and talk to them at night (he needs the phone for communication with the nuns, still, a lesson they all learned when he was grounded that first time), but he  _ can _ do something else.

He carefully tears a few pieces of paper from one of his spiral school notebooks. The paper seems better for letter-writing.

_ Write them letters. I don’t know how to get them to them, but… _

He glances at the clock. 12:03 AM.

Thursday.

The day they all agreed to get together to study again. The day he was supposed to go to Tommy’s house and have tacos for dinner and spend time with  _ friends.  _

They were probably upset. He had seen the text messages that he’d gotten when he got his phone back from Sister Anne, and they were very upsetting. They would hopefully assume he was grounded again, something he can’t control, something he can’t communicate with them--

_ He’s so alone-- _

But.

He can hope-- he can pray, to God, to all the saints, to Jesus, to Sister Anne, to everyone and everything in the universe-- that he’s lucky enough to catch them tomorrow. At the library.

Give them a letter.

Hope that this suffices as a good enough goodbye.

* * *

_ Tubbo & Tommy-- _

_ If you’re reading this letter that means I was successful at something for the first time in a good few weeks. Thank God! It’s been rough. I don’t want to go too detailed with this, I want to keep this under a page, and I have a few things I want to confess to you two. You deserve to know. _

_ First, I’m an orphan. I don’t have a family-- I’m at the orphanage by the park and the church. The religious one. I’m the oldest one here and with all my health problems-- sleep walking, memory problems, face blindness-- it makes sense that no one wants to adopt me, I’ve accepted I’ll age out before then. I didn’t want to tell you earlier because I was embarrassed by it. I thought you’d see me as lesser. I know differently, now. _

_ Second, I’m not allowed to speak to you two anymore. I write everything down in journals that’s important to remember. One of the nuns-- my caregivers-- found it and burned it and blocked your numbers on my phone. They take my phone at night and look through it, so I can’t contact you anymore.  _

_ I’m sorry.  _

_ Thank you both for being good friends. You’re the first friends I’ve ever had, and probably will have for a while. Thank you for being great friends, thank you for showing me your world. My notebook was burned but I haven’t forgot you yet-- and I hope I never will. _

_ Yours truly,  _

_ Ranboo. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B) Early chapter POG?? Me publishing it not between the hours of 12-3am so I get decent sleep before class pog?? I had this chapter written along with the last (part of it is cut from the previous chapter, actually, I didn't originally plan on that giant cliffhanger but hey things happen) but I don't like publishing more than one chapter at once. But I feel a little merciful after the last chapter, and I'm taking melatonin gummies around eleven and trying to fix my awful sleep schedule, so hope y'all enjoy an early chapter :)
> 
> Onto the chapter comments I always do;
> 
> MORE dreamon lore??? A random man giving Ranboo tissues?? Oh and the whole literal fire that he had to deal with. Um. He's kinda going through a lot right now, but hopefully?? It'll get better??
> 
> At least he has a lot of Christian pop music to listen to. That won't drive him insane one bit :)
> 
> TBH I had no idea what I was doing with the church scene, it wrote itself. Who is the man? Is he some kind of angel? God Himself? Jesus? Who knows! I don't, and I'm the writer. Take that as you will. 
> 
> Also, Ranboo is a smart kid. Hope his plan goes well. 
> 
> See you next chapter!


	10. INTERLUDE I

Tubbo isn’t quite sure why Ranboo hasn’t responded.

_ He’s grounded, again,  _ Tubbo assumes. The first time had been sudden and random-- as it seemed to be with his parents. Tubbo was ready to fight Ranboo’s parents, at this point. He doesn’t talk much about his home or his life, and if that’s because his parents aren’t nice, Tubbo is ready to square up.

Tommy will have to be the one to pull him away. And that’s saying something.

Still, silence from Ranboo was confusing and strange. They were supposed to meet up at the library today and he hasn’t heard anything from Ranboo, anything about studying or anything about Taco Thursday.

And Techno makes amazing tacos. He’d hate for Ranboo to miss it.

_ Maybe we can sneak him tacos, if he’s grounded again,  _ he thinks throughout school. He and Tommy don’t share a lot of classes-- unfortunately-- but when they have lunch, he takes his seat right next to Tommy and pitches the idea.

“That sounds like a terrible idea, Tubbo.” Tommy says. 

“You didn’t say no!”

“You know I’m always in, bitch!” Tommy laughs, as a few more of their friends make their way to the table. They’re friends, they’re a big group, and Tubbo knows them all and loves them all, but he and Tommy?

_ They were tight. _

Being united by magical forces will definitely strengthen a friendship. They can’t talk about it there, so when they meet up when school lets out, they can in hushed voices as they walk.

It’s a breezy autumn afternoon. Not chilly enough to start bringing out coats and jackets, but Tommy does have a cozy, hand-knit scarf on and Tubbo pulls a beanie over his ears and they’re both in long-sleeves. Enough to stay comfortable, but not too warm in the furnace that is their stupid highschool.

A thought comes to his mind.

“Do you think Ranboo has magic?”

Tommy spits out the water he was sipping. Tubbo really needs to get more aware of his surroundings when he says stuff, sometimes. 

“W-What? Where did this come from?” He manages to choke out, wiping the water off his face with his hands.

“I mean. I haven’t met anyone without magic getting introduced to magic, you know, because no one else has magic in my family except for me, so I don’t usually know how it goes, but Ranboo has been taking it… Really well?” He tries to explain. Tommy usually picks up on it, and the blond nods along. “... That’s a thing, right? Didn’t Phil say something about magic brings people with gifts together like fate?”

“Phil says a lot of things.” Tommy’s never thought high of his dad, if any indication of calling him by his first name says anything. He still jumps over the cracks in the pavement as they walk, though. He remembers Phil’s favorite food and favorite flower. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

“We should ask him tonight at dinner!” Tubbo says. “Whether or not Ranboo is there.”

“I told Phil to plan on hm not comin’, but Techno always makes so much food for Taco Thursdays that he can squeeze in if he does.” Tommy says. 

The library is in sight.

The small van that they’ve seen everywhere around town is parked out front. Tubbo recognizes it as the van that’s with the orphanage in town. He’s never been to the orphanage, but the van is pretty big and recognizable.

Tommy groans next to him. “Great, we’ll have to deal with a bunch of little snotty kids.”

“They’re not that bad.” Tubbo says, rolling his eyes. “They stick to the little kid books, anyway. Not the big kid books around us.” He gives his best friend a grin. “C’mon, let’s go grab our usual spot.”

They may have a small town, but the town dedicates a lot of time and money into the library. It’s a modest two-stories, shelves packed to the brim with books. Most donated, some brand new, some old copies from ages before Tubbo was born. They have a little room for kids to play in while older kids who might be babysitting them or their parents browse the books, half of the bottom floor is dedicated to the child-to-YA category of books, and there are a few tables set up around a glass balcony that shows off the first floor on the second.

It’s pretty poggers.

“Ah, shit, I need to go find Beowulf for class.” Tommy groans. He doesn’t like English that much, and they’re reading awful language-- Tubbo knows Beowulf, remembers how much he hated it, too, but at least he knows what the questions are gonna be for Tommy’s quizzes and essays, so he can help somewhat. Tommy stops in the middle of the library though.

He freezes up. Leans over to Tubbo. “Is that Ranboo over there?”

Tubbo follows his gaze, and it definitely is their friend Ranboo, that they hadn’t heard from in a few days. He’s looking at a few books in the young adult section, but he keeps glancing up and around, like he’s somewhere he shouldn’t be. 

He looks. 

Well, he looks awful. Tubbo is brutally honest, and he can tell that Ranboo looks  _ awful.  _ There are deep bags under his eyes, and his usually neatly-styled hair is a bit of a mess. Brushed out, but not with any care. He’s a little paler and hunches over more than he usually does. 

He’s a tall person. Taller than Tommy and most of his family, which Tubbo didn’t think was possible, but Ranboo is  _ tall.  _ He shrinks himself down with a bit of a slouch, and it’s definitely gotten worse.

Something is wrong. Tubbo can feel it in his soul that something is wrong with Ranboo.

_ He did say something big happened a while ago,  _ Tubbo thinks, remembering the text message a few weeks ago.  _ I hope he’s okay, but he doesn’t look it…  _

“Tommy, I--” He turns over to Tommy to tell him something, but it falls on deaf ears. Tommy’s already making his way over to Ranboo. “Damn it.”

“Ey, what the fuck is up, Ranboo?!” Tommy says, really obnoxiously loudly. Ranboo looks up, and it’s a deer-in-the-headlights look. He drops the book out of shock, and picks it up quickly, trying to remember where it was in the shelf.

“Tommy, shh!” Tubbo catches up quickly and tugs on his arm. They both duck into the same shelf as Ranboo. “We’re in a library, idiot.”

Tommy blows a raspberry at him.

Tubbo glances back to Ranboo, and grabs onto Tommy’s arm a little tighter. He remembers to pull more at his sleeve than the actual flesh, he doesn’t want to bruise with his strength again, but the look Ranboo gives them sends a shudder down his spine.

It’s a look of pure fear.

Not  _ disgust.  _ Not like what he had worried about, introducing Ranboo to magic. It was obvious he was raised in a strict, probably religious household, the way he talked about church and the way he just talked in general. He never cursed, he was always polite, he remembered his manners, he only just got a phone, he didn’t know what Minecraft was-- those small details helped put a little bit of his past together. 

And Tubbo was worried that Ranboo would see magic and drop them completely. He didn’t, at least.

But this look of pure fear was worrying. The dark circles, the way he held himself, something had definitely happened since their last study session.

“Are you okay--”

Ranboo shakes his head. He speaks a little too quickly. “No, I’m-- I’m sorry, I can’t talk to you guys anymore.” He digs into the pocket of his jacket, and pulls out an envelope, thrusts it into Tommy’s hands, before pushing through them and running away.

He runs straight to one of the nuns on the other side of the room, who had turned her head to look directly at them. Something about her glare sends another shiver down Tubbo’s spine.

This gets on Tommy’s nerves immediately, who hands the letter to Tubbo and yells out, “Ay, what the fuck--”

He’s cut off by Tubbo elbowing him. A little extra force put into it to make him really quiet down. “Did you see how he looked? Something isn’t right.” He glances at the envelope, and slowly tears it open.

He reads the letter. Once, twice. The letters get a little mixed up like they usually do, so he tries to read it slowly and re-read it just a little slower, so the words help sink in. He glances up at Tommy. 

“Tommy, this isn’t good.”

* * *

Phil thinks that he’s a lot of things.

A patient man, for one. With the kids that he’s had to raise, it only makes sense that he would be patient. He called them out when it got to be too much, of course, and he had fun with his kids when the time came, but he like to  _ think _ that he’s a patient man.

When Ranboo came into their life, Phil thought it was just another school friend. Or something similar, whatever they could do over the summer. He really just didn’t care that much about the boy Tommy spoke of in passing the butter at the dinner table. 

_ “He’s a weird fuckin’ kid, but at least he fits in with me n’ Tubbo.” _ Tommy said the first night.

There was no sign, whatsoever, that Ranboo would be inclined towards magic. Tommy had quite a few friends who were magically gifted, some more than others, in their small little secret community in the town. Everyone knew… Everyone, really. There were only ever a few outsiders, but when they were found by the group, they were welcomed immediately.

Tubbo, for example. From a family of duds, he suddenly appeared. Magic brought him to everyone else, even if he didn’t know it. 

But Tommy also has friends who aren’t magically inclined, too. He talks to a lot of people, he’s very social (or, as Techno would complain,  _ loud,  _ and Wilbur,  _ obnoxious _ , which are both true)-- it makes sense that he can walk up to a random kid and befriend them.

That was until he  _ met _ Ranboo, the day of their summer zoo trip.

It was a nice day out, and they had agreed to pick Ranboo up at the park. He didn’t say why he didn’t want Phil to drive just to his house, but it wasn’t Phil’s duty to ask. He was really just the driver of the friends, and Techno had tagged along, book in hand, because Phil didn’t want him spending another lonely day in the house with Wilbur gone as well with his own friends.

But Ranboo… Well, Phil could tell that he was different.

He was awkwardly tall with long limbs, had dark hair with streaks of gray already forming in them, and he never looked anyone right in the eyes. If anything, he looked elsewhere, and he was shy, and awkward, and quiet, compared to the loud-mouthed Tommy and Tubbo, who could get equally as loud when Tommy was around.

Ranboo was the antithesis to Tommy. It was strange and weird that they had become friends, but something  _ else _ was different about him. Phil couldn’t tell what, so he did what he always did.

Talk to Techno about it.

While the three kids ran off to explore the zoo, Techno made a beeline for the cafe in it, and Phil followed suit. 

“What do you think of Ranboo?” He asks when they were in line for their drinks.

Techno shrugs. The younger man has worn his hair down in a long braid, and with his gold-framed glasses and simple white shirt, he looks quite regal. The old copy of  _ The Odyssey  _ only adds to the regal look.

“He’s another kid.” Techno replies. “Kinda quiet. That’s really nice.”

Phil chuckles. With all the loud friends that he’s had to deal with, a quiet friend is a nice change of pace. “Yeah…”

“Why?” They take another step forward in the line.

“I mean. I don’t know for  _ sure,  _ but…” He trails off, hoping that Techno picks up on his train of thought.

“Oh.  _ Oh.” _ Techno tries to avoid emotion whenever possible, but even his eyes widen a bit at that. 

“Yeah.” 

They order their drinks and sit down by a window, where they can see directly out into a little plaza. He immediately gets a buzz from his phone, a text from Tommy, saying that their little group of three had gotten split up.

“God damnit.” The one thing Phil had said to them was  _ don’t lose each other,  _ especially since other gifted people had reported sightings of dreamons in the last week, and the last thing anyone needed was a dreamon attack in the middle of a zoo. 

“They got lost already?”

“Separated.” Phil glances out the window. He can’t spot any of them easily. “Hopefully nothing bad happens.”

_ Dreamons _ wouldn’t prey normally at a zoo. Animals cannot be prey to them like humans can, and there were one too many humans for them to be snooping around. But if even the likes of Dream have taken on the dreamons lately and nearly lost, there was trouble afoot. 

“Hopefully.” Techno opens his book. 

Phil glances down at his phone. Tommy already found Tubbo, and they were looking for Ranboo.

**_THE CHILD:_ ** **ranboo is apparently right by the cafe, told him to go find u and techno**

**_PHIL:_ ** **Okay, cool!**

Phil glances back out the window. He can barely spot the tall, dark-haired figure in the crowd. Hopefully he’ll be walking over soon, and then they can wait for Tommy and Tubbo to make their way to the cafe so the whole group can meet up again. 

But Ranboo doesn’t make his way anywhere in the crowd. He’s just standing there.

**_THE CHILD:_ ** **ranboo says u gotta go get him**

It’s a weird request. Surely Ranboo could see him in the window, right? The cafe wasn’t that busy and he had a clear shot to look directly there and he’d notice them, but Phil shrugs and stands up.

“I gotta go get Ranboo.”

Techno doesn’t look up from his book, but he nods to acknowledge that he heard Phil.

Ranboo is easy to find and a little nervous through it all, but Phil just shakes it off as nerves. He seemed like he was a pretty sheltered kid, and he did say it was his first time at the zoo, so it was probably strange to be around so many people.

Right?

That’s what Phil thought, until  _ that day. _

There’s a lot of days that he can describe as  _ That Day _ in his head. It’s unfortunate there are so many big things happening in his life that he can list and rank the many days where things went incredibly wrong, got incredibly dangerous, or were just plain weird with his family. The day they realized Tommy’s gift was That Day, a day that a few dreamons attacked the orchard was also That Day.

_ That Day,  _ or as Wilbur dubbed it,  _ That Day In Which Ranboo Finds Out,  _ very eloquently, was the day that his son and his son’s two friends appeared in the front yard in a flash of white. He had seen the flash from inside the living room, where he’d been trying so desperately to find a certain book, but it was all forgotten about when he noticed the light of the amaryllis pendant. 

It was a special kind of magic, that he and Techno worked together on, so that if the boys are ever in deep trouble, they can call upon it and use it as a near instant escape. It required a crossroads, or a bridge, of some sorts, but with the creeks and rivers and railroad tracks that run through town, it wasn’t that hard to find something that could qualify as such.

Ranboo, however, was a surprise.

He had known that Ranboo would be meeting them at the park that day and thought nothing of it, but glancing out the living room window and seeing not two but  _ three _ heads, and his heart did sink a little bit.

Breaking the news to Ranboo was tough. He seemed pretty religious-- not devout, or pious, but he was obviously raised in organized religion-- so the sudden shock of  _ oh yeah, magic exists,  _ must have been a lot, but he was calmed down by the end of the day.

He definitely had some kind of magic. Phil could feel it-- the thinnest line of connection between Ranboo and magical energy. It wasn’t very strong, like it had been buried deep within him for a while. No one could do that to a person except themself, and, if Ranboo had never met Tommy, he probably would never truly awaken his magic.

It would just be odd occurrences around Ranboo for his whole life, but some occurrences that could be explained. 

He didn’t know much about his parents-- so possibly, another case like Tubbo, who had been born the odd one out in his family with the first deep connection to magic in years. Which Phil was fine with. Even though none of Tubbo’s family knew the truth of why their son was so strong and durable, at least he had a place to work out the extra magical energy without it building up now.

Ranboo didn’t have that. He was older, too, but Phil’s met with people who never discovered their magical gifts until their mid-twenties, so Ranboo isn’t a particularly late bloomer. And he had the experience with Tubbo adjusting to the magic, so hopefully he would be able to help Ranboo out, as well, whenever the time came that his magic awakened.

It was only a matter of time, especially after something as traumatizing as almost being eaten by a dreamon.

And when Ranboo directed him back to his home, well.

Phil had seen the orphanage in his many drives. He hadn’t been there, of course-- Wilbur and Tommy were adopted, but adopted through means outside the orphanage and within the magical community. Wilbur had been six when he was at his doorstep with one of Phil’s old friends, asking to take the young boy in, and Tommy wasn’t even two years old when he ended up in Phil’s care. So he’s never dealt with orphanages themselves, but they were probably good institutions, right?

He hoped.

He was wrong to hope, it seems, when Tommy and Tubbo end up cutting off their study session at the library short in a flash of hasty, white light in the front yard.

Tommy is trying to be strong-- Phil has seen the look on his face before, like the time their pet goldfish died when he was younger and he was trying to not cry as they held a viking funeral in a kiddie pool in their backyard. (Wilbur’s idea.) He’d seen it when the boy was hurt, injured, limping from one too many hits from a dreamon attack.

Tubbo was a little worse-off. His eyes were clearly red, from rubbing away tears, and he shook a little bit when he took breaths.

Ranboo had disappeared again on them, but they had assumed that he was grounded.

The contents of the letter they got showed otherwise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Oh hey Cosmo why did you decide to write in two different POVs for this chapter?"_  
>  Well, dear reader, thank you for asking. I will answer with this one statement.
> 
> I needed a break from endless Ranboo angst. I'm sure you do, too.
> 
> Of course, this chapter is still angsty. But it gives you a little bit more of the world, doesn't it? :) 
> 
> Also, I made a playlist for Promised Land! It's in the classic 8tracks style (if you remember that website, welcome to the Cool Kids Club, we have meetings every third Saturday in the afternoon, don't forget to bring your favorite kind of dessert food to it). I listen to my general writing playlist when writing, but if you guys wanna know the songs I vibe with for this story, here you go!
> 
> **Promised Land // Playlist  
>  1\. Promiseland - MIKA  
> 2\. Bethlehem - Selmer  
> 3\. Saint Bernard - Lincoln  
> 4\. Home - Cavetown  
> 5\. Sweet Hibiscus Tea - Penelope Scott  
> 6\. In our Bedroom After The War - Stars  
> 7\. The Good In Me - Jon Bellion  
> 8\. The Other Side of Paradise - Glass Animals**
> 
> Are some of these songs foreshadowing? B) Only time will tell...
> 
> See you next chapter for your regularly scheduled Ranboo angst
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/cosmonaughtt)   
>  [tumblr](https://cosmonaughtt.tumblr.com/)


	11. Can't Believe You Thought That Would Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **content warning:**
> 
> **\- no more than your usual ranboo angst from the previous chapters. welcome back, friends :)**

It’s raining again. He’s always afraid of the rain, but the way it hits the window and the water falls down it is transfixing for the moment of rest he takes, leaning on the mop.

Chores day. Ranboo doesn’t like new chores day. It’s a lot more work now, especially since another wave of adoptions went through, and they’re down _five_ less kids.

Never him, of course, but he can’t help but dream of the day he gets out of the orphanage.

He hasn’t been out since the last time he went to the library. He wasn’t originally supposed to go with the orphanage. It was supposed to be just another study day with his friends. But since he was banned from seeing them again-- _sometimes just thinking of their names makes him nervous like Sister Agnes can read minds even though she obviously can’t--_ he couldn’t go.

But the timings matched up right on some books he had to return, and by some miracle of God, he was able to join the younger kids. Since the weather on the weekend was supposed to be, for lack of better words, _crappy all day,_ the sisters decided that an early trip to the library to return some books, pick up a few more, do their usual library thing would’ve been much better to do.

The letter felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket and he felt his ears burn as he ran past his former-friends, but.

It was a goodbye. It wasn’t the one he wanted, but it was better than not giving them anything and having them hate him for the rest of their lives.

He glanced out the window again. He doesn’t want to be at the orphanage anymore. 

He wishes it didn’t have to be, as he pulls his attention from the rain outside and back to mopping the tile of the main entrance. The water splashes in the bucket as he squishes the mop around to get the dirt off.

All the rainy and muddy fall days brought a lot of mud in the front room. Even though everyone tries to wipe off their boots, or go through the back, it always ends up caked in mud. The tile is dark enough for someone to not notice it visually, but if they want to be an upstanding orphanage, then they need to keep it as clean as they possibly can.

Which Ranboo has been doing a lot, lately. Cleaning.

It seems when Sister Agnes decided that he wasn’t doing enough work with his schoolwork, he could be useful elsewhere. Dusting. Vacuuming. Organizing papers. Wiping. Mopping. He was no stranger to helping out with chores, maybe a little more than the younger kids as he grew older, but with how many times he’s cleaned everything imaginable in the orphanage for the past few weeks, Ranboo is getting sick of it.

He’s, well.

He’s actually getting sick of a lot of things, he’s realizing. He wants it to go back to Before so badly. He doesn’t want to deal with cleaning and helping with the baby (though, the baby was just adopted, so he doesn’t have to help change diapers and clean up baby spittle everywhere anymore) and helping Sister Marie with other chores. He wants it to be like it once was.

Of course, as much as he wishes, nothing can bring Sister Anne back to life, so he pops the mop back in the bucket and swishes it around in the water again. He’ll probably need to change the water soon-- the downstairs bathroom has the tub perfect for carrying the mop in, luckily. Unluckily, it’ll become just another thing to clean when he’s done.

_And on that day when my strength is_ \--

The playlist on his phone gets cut off when he gets tangled in his earbuds and they’re torn from the jack. He drops the mop on his foot, and bites into his lip to avoid crying out in pain.

Sister Agnes is on the phone in the other room. He doesn’t want to disturb her. 

At least his foot caught the mop, but it knocked a lot more water out of the bucket. He looks at it and sighs.

He’s tired.

He’s really, really tired. Even though it’s been-- it’s been almost a month, time flies by so fast, only a few days since he gave out the letter as a final goodbye-- that long, he has been sleeping much worse.

His sleepwalking is getting worse.

Of course, he’s not going to get any help with it, not any time soon. 

_Still my soul will sing Your praise unending…_

He stifles a yawn. Maybe if he finishes his chores, he can try to sneak in a quick nap, before a nap sneaks up on him, instead.

The sound of shoes echoing on tile is enough to wake him up. He tries to stand up straighter when Sister Agnes leaves her office. 

She notices him, immediately. She looks down at the floor.

“...You missed a spot.” 

“I- um. I know.” He replies. He stifles another yawn. It’s barely two. “I’m getting it.”

There’s a brief… Flash of something, in her eyes. She isn’t very expressive until it comes to disappointment or anger, so when another emotion comes out it’s more noticeable. He sees it. 

Ranboo doesn’t know what the emotion was. It’s gone as fast as it happens. 

“Best get to it, then.” She says, curtly. As if the emotion never passed from her eyes. She glances back to the window. “The rain should stop tomorrow night, so hopefully all this _mud_ will finally cease.” She spits out the word mud like it’s a sin.

Everything seems to be sinful or dirty to Sister Agnes.

“After mopping, Ranboo, would you mind sweeping in my office, as well?” The nun asks as she turns and begins her way to the kitchen. Probably to get ready for snack-time for the younger kids. It’s almost 2:30. 

He nods, not saying a word and turning back to mopping.

“Thank you, dear. Your future wife will be very blessed to have a hard-working man like you.” She says. 

And leaves.

* * *

Even though he passes out as he hits the pillow most nights, it’s never a full sleep. It’s not restful.

It’s 1:06 AM when he wakes up the first time that night. He groans. It wasn’t in the middle of a sleepwalk, _thank you, God_ , but he was up later than he normally would be, trying to fold his laundry that he had forgotten about after dinner.

Not too late. 

But he was definitely exhausted, and waking up for no reason at 1:06 AM is not anything fun. He sighs and sits up.

Sleep will avoid him for the next few hours, the least he can do is do something productive. Maybe it will tire him out, maybe he’ll fall asleep faster.

He gets up and pads softly across his bedroom, to his desk. It’s by his window. His only window.

With the bars on it.

He glances out the window-- the rain has stopped early. A blessing, for once. The sky has little clouds now, and an almost-full moon (waxing or waning, he can never remember which word it is) lights up the side yard. 

It’s a little transfixing, the lights of the stars and the moon, and if the iron bars didn’t exist in front of his window, he would definitely crack the old glass open and lean onto the screen.

Well. 

The bars are supposed to keep him from falling out, but it’s probably too chilly to open it, anyway. 

He sighs. Gets on his knees, leans on the windowsill. Doesn’t put his face into the glass, but his arms dig into it a little bit. It’s cold.

“God.” He mumbles out. Not really a direct prayer or anything, but it’s something more than just talking to himself. “Do… Do you listen to me?” 

The moon doesn’t blink back at him. None of the stars move.

He leans more into his arms.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, anymore.” Ranboo lets out a deep sigh. “Sister Agnes keeps giving me work. Housework and schoolwork. I haven’t left the orphanage since the library. I guess being able to leave like I was over the summer was only a temporary thing.”

Why.

“Why is everything only temporary in my life?” He glances back up at the sky. “Why can’t I just… be happy? I’m trying, God, but you’re not really giving me any help, here.”

_If you ask, God will provide,_ he was taught.

He asks. He’s been asking for years. To be adopted, to have a family, to have a home. To have friends, to be able to exist outside the orphanage.

To… be free. 

All he wants is to be free, isn’t it?

That’s why he’s tried to start the mental countdown. It isn’t going well, but he’s been shoving more loose papers into an old notebook to write down his thoughts now, and tries to remember the countdown. They’re less organized. He forgets dates and they’re probably not in the right order. The books that contain his memory are a jumbled mess, just like him.

The countdown until he ages out of the system. Still two years away. 

He can wait that long, right?

Ranboo leans back out from the window and lays his head back on the floor. Softly, not like he would be if he woke up sleepwalking and had an ache in his neck. 

He glances to his bed.

And… he takes a second.

He blinks. Once, twice.

Ranboo sits up. Stands up. Goes over to his bed. He feels his blood rush up into his head and his ears, and he takes a staggering gasp.

On his bed is. Well.

It’s _him._

It’s him, sound asleep.

Ranboo pulls his arms closer into him, taking a few steps back. How had he not-- how had he not noticed? His staggering back makes him trip and he hits the ground, hard, but nothing in his room shakes from the impact.

What. What? _What? What??_

He-- his other self. His other body?-- is still in bed. He doesn’t move a inch in his deep sleep. It’s nice to know that _some_ one is getting sleep, at least. But he pulls his arms in closer, and scoots back into the wall out of fear, out of confusion, out of-- out of something, he doesn’t know _what._

“I have to be dreaming,” he says to himself. “This is just a dream. This is all just a really, really _weird dream--”_

* * *

He wakes up on the floor where he had been moments before. The sun is rising through the window, and the sound of the key unlocking his door echoes through his room.

The rain stopped at some point. _Last night, he looked out his window, saw the moon--_

Ranboo glances down at his hands. Everything is solid. Everything is real.

It was just...

It was just a bad dream.

_It wasn’t,_ a voice in the back of his head says.

_It was_ _just a bad dream._ Ranboo tells himself. 

He ignores it, stretches his aching limbs, and collapses back into his bed. Despite the fact that it’s a Sunday, exhaustion and sleepiness still wears down on him. He has to get up and get ready for church, soon. And then they have brunch, and then he can sleep more.

But he just needs another second on his bed.

* * *

He isn’t startled anymore by the sound of the door locking. When they first started doing it, he would pay all his attention to it, sit on his bed and watch his door until the _clunk_ happened. He would flinch at the sound, sigh to himself, curl his body up as small as he could.

Now, when it happens, with the added sound of the old, wooden chair being dragged on the hallway carpet for good measure, he notices it.

He knows it happens.

Ranboo has accepted it.

The jingle of keys echoes down the hall as one of the nuns-- he thinks it might be Sister Marie this time, he knows that Sister Agnes walks harder on the old wood and her footsteps carry more meaning and weight and as weird as it is, emotion-- walks back to their side of the orphanage, where they would be sleeping. 

Strange, he thinks, sitting back in his desk chair, that they all sleep on the other side of the building. He turns back to his desk.

More loose papers are scattered about. He’s trying to remember the order of things-- _did this happen before or after that thing? When did this happen? When did that happen?_ \-- because it turns out, not getting a new journal and scribbling his thoughts onto loose sheets of paper and stuffing them in the back of an old journal is not the best way to go about it.

_He should be thankful, though, that Sister Agnes was merciful enough to let him stay in the orphanage still,_ he thinks.

On top of the loose papers is the small remains of his last journal.

_Magic._

He doesn’t know why he’s kept it so long. The paper has definitely seen better days-- one of the few surviving bits of the fire-- and it’s crumpled up from being shoved in his pocket. The pencil is faded, but the word is still incredibly legible.

_Magic._

He’s trying to remember everything that Phil had told him about the magic, when he was still allowed to go out and see his friends. He…

Ranboo doesn’t remember.

It brings angry tears to his eyes. That so many memories were just torn from his mind like that. Maybe, he thinks, it was for the best-- but the memories were important to him.

Without his memories, who is he?

_Who is Ranboo?_

Orphan, lost child. Sleepwalker. Facially blind. Alone.

He picks up the small piece of surviving paper. It’s a reminder.

It’s his only reminder.

He wouldn’t forget Tubbo or Tommy or Phil or-- _well, Tommy had two brothers, but he can’t remember their names now--_ anything that happened over summer. He wouldn’t _forget_ , but it feels like memories are slipping through his fingers like he’s dug his hands in sand.

Slipping away. 

Ranboo knows his mind can at least hold onto the big memories. Not many from his childhood, but there are certain things that don’t slip away.

Mostly… Traumatic ones, now that he thinks about it. The times the kids would read his journals and laugh. Getting in trouble, his knuckles burning and bruised. The zoo trip-- a happy one. 

The dreamon.

Sister Anne. 

He shudders.

He would remember the dreamon and he would remember _magic._ He would remember it.

But the details? Phil’s house is already fuzzy in his mind. There was some kind of orchard. He can’t remember their magic, either. He knows they have magic, but…

They had specific types of magic, right?

He buries his face in his hands. Even though he tries to comb through his brain for the memories, he can’t remember.

He wants to remember. He wants to remember he wants to remember _he wants to remember--_

_Thunk._

There’s a sound at his window.

He brushes it off, focusing instead on the papers in front of him. He needs to get them organized. Maybe he’ll be able to recall better a conversation that happened a week ago, instead of mixing it up for something that happened today. His days are bleeding together again-- which is good for his memory in general, but for specific things it sucks.

_Thunk._

He ignores it.

Until a shadow falls across his face, and he looks up to see _Tommy_ hanging on the bars outside his window. The blond’s arms are awkwardly curled around the iron, and he smiles wide-- _did he always have braces?--_ when Ranboo finally notices him. He waves.

But it makes everything _sink_ in Ranboo.

This wasn’t good-- he knew it. Why was Tommy here?

Was he dreaming again?

No, he wasn’t. Ranboo never dreams. Two nights in a row-- _that wasn’t a dream--_ is practically unheard of. 

Against his better judgement-- ignore Tommy, pray he goes away, go about his night-- he walks over and opens the window.

“Fuckin’ finally!” Tommy isn’t dressed in any thick layers-- it’s just a simple jacket, Ranboo notices. “I’ve been hanging onto this for a good five minutes. It’s cold out here!”

When Ranboo glances out the window, he can look down and see the small figure of Tubbo standing in the grass below of the side-yard. “You shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t be here.”

“I mean Phil _knows_ I’m here, I told him that Tubbo an’ I were gonna break you out of this place. He didn’t try to stop me.”

“Break-- break me out?”

“Yeah!” Tommy nods. He shifts again, trying to get more comfortable hanging off the bars, but it makes him look even more feral than he ever has before. “Jesus Christ, why the fuck do you have these stupid bars on your window?”

“So I don’t, um. Fall out of the window.” The screen was never that sturdy. If he leans against it with just a small amount of force, it’ll tear. He’s seen the younger kids tear their screens, and it always ended in reprimands from Sister Marie and grumpy looks from Sister Agnes who has to buy more screens. 

But his is much older, probably needs to be repaired soon anyway, but it’ll last long enough if he doesn’t touch it.

“Fall out? What the fuck,” Tommy’s voice raises, but he catches himself. “Alright, look, Ranboo. I can’t hold onto these bars forever, so if you could kindly just come outside so we can go--”

“I can’t.” Ranboo interrupts. He can’t leave-- he can’t leave, the sisters will get angry, he’ll get punished again, maybe his other journals will get burnt, _what is he without his memory_ \--

“We’re trying’ to rescue you. Please cooperate.” He slips on the bars and barely catches himself. Below him, Tubbo moves, ready to catch Tommy if it’s needed. 

_Rescue you._ What does Ranboo need saving from? He’s-- he’s fine where he is. He’s completely fine where he is and where he has been, his whole life. It’s a little rough sometimes, but he has a roof over his head, he gets three meals (and a snack!) a day, warm food and warm water to take showers with, he has his own bed and room, all he has to do is wait until he ages out.

He. 

_He’s fine._

_No, you’re not._ A taunting voice in his head says. _Not fine at all._

He’s _fine._

Ranboo’s mind flashes to Sister Agnes burning his journal. He remembers the pit in his stomach as she stood there with it only moments before. He remembers-- he doesn’t want to remember, but he remembers-- the hours he spent in the church, praying for forgiveness, kneeling down before the cross, wooden rosary tied between his fingers and hands. 

“I can’t,” he says, again. He looks away. He never makes eye contact but he doesn’t want to look in Tommy’s direction.

“Well, why the _fuck_ not?!” Tommy’s voice is a little louder. Ranboo flinches.

Ranboo stares at his door.

“Don’t make me jump down and get Tubbo up here. He’s got those nasty puppy dog eyes--”

“E-Even if I wanted to, I still couldn’t.” Ranboo doesn’t tear his eyes away from the door. “They-- the Sisters lock my door at night so I don’t end up hurting myself when I sleepwalk.” 

Tommy’s silent for a moment. It’s a rare moment for Tommy to be silent, but he’s silent. Ranboo doesn’t need to turn his head and know that Tommy is in… _awe_ , shocked awe, of what he just said. 

He’s mentioned the sleepwalking problem before. He talks about how his caregivers aren’t a big fan of it, but they haven’t gotten him help yet. He knows he should get help, but the nuns definitely won’t be taking him to a sleep doctor anytime soon. Ranboo just has to wait.

He just has to be patient. _He just has to wait._

“Well, um.” Tommy sighs. Ranboo turns his head, but he looks at the way the full moon silhouettes Tommy’s limbs tangled in the bars instead of at his face. “What about tomorrow? We can sneak out of school, and come get you, and you won’t have to be stuck in this hellhole anymore!”

_Hellhole?_ “Tommy, I--”

His voice freezes up. Everything goes silent. 

There’s an echo of a key in his door.

* * *

“In _all my years_ of running an orphanage, I have _never_ seen anything as foolhardy as what I have witnessed tonight!” 

Sister Agnes is _really angry._ Ranboo holds his breath as he peers his head into the main hall.

It wasn’t like Tommy and Tubbo were particularly quiet in their failed rescue attempt. Tommy had climbed up to the second story and tangle his limbs up on the bars outside Ranboo’s window, and Tubbo was just _standing there,_ in full view of the bay window of the kitchen. They weren’t stealthy at all.

It was a _miracle_ that they weren’t noticed _sooner._

The police were called. One police officer was talking to Sister Agnes, now. 

Tommy and Tubbo were waiting in a car outside the orphanage for their parents to pick them up. Or, well, it was just Phil who came. 

“Yes, ma’am, it is quite the interesting situation--” the young officer looks like he isn’t getting paid as much as he should, and dealing with a 70-plus-year-old angry nun is leagues above his pay.

Ranboo can peer out through one of the windows where he stands quietly and see Tommy’s hunched form in the back of a car. 

His stomach feels like it has eaten itself. The chilling sound of his name being called after the echo of the key in the door, along with hearing Tommy yelp and fall on the ground is a bad memory. He hopes he forgets it.

He won’t.

But he can hope.

Nothing was taken away from him, this time. He shut his window as quickly as he could and tried to look innocent. He didn’t want to get in trouble with Sister Agnes again. _Please, God, please, I was trying to shoo him away, not join him. Please have mercy,_ his thoughts ran, hoping that God would hear his plight.

Sister Agnes seemed too angry at the other two than at Ranboo, at least, but he knew that if he stepped out wrong-- or if he even made any noise where he stood, at that moment-- the punishment would come sooner. It might be a little worse.

But he has to hear this.

Something’s compelling him to.

Plus, it was not even midnight. His brain wouldn’t shut up and let him sleep for the next few hours, at the very least, and it’s not like Ranboo has anything better to do.

He can faintly see the silhouette of Phil. Mostly just his shadow.

“I can-- I can assure you, I had no idea they were going to do this.” 

_Liar,_ Ranboo thinks. Tommy _said_ Phil knew they were going to do this. Or, well, maybe Tommy had left a note or something in Tommy fashion and just did it, anyway. Maybe. 

Sister Agnes takes a deep breath. Steels herself. She looks at Phil. The officer stood between them to prevent any violence, but Ranboo could never imagine Phil fighting a nun. 

Even if Sister Agnes was acting _like this._

“I swore an oath to God that I would protect all the children here until they were to be adopted, and that includes children as old as Ranboo.” She says. Her voice is a little cooler now, but the anger still radiates through the walls. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine the ruler. “You and your family, sir, have done nothing but problems for him since you have come into his life.”

“Excuse me--” Phil asks, but he’s interrupted.

“Ranboo is a good soul. A sweet, kind, soul. And I do not want him _corrupted_ by all the ideas of _magic_ and _monsters_ you’ve filled his head with!” There’s a waving of an indignant finger.

He tried to keep the magic thing a secret, but the Sisters found out, anyway. 

“If I ever see you, or any of your children, on my property again…” Sister Anne continues. “I will not hesitate to call the police again, and file a restraining order on behalf of my orphanage.”

Ranboo can’t do it anymore. He takes a few steps back, and the way the door is propped open, he can see a bit more of the room, with Sister Agnes’ back turned towards him.

He can see Phil’s face. Not literally-- the details are muddy. But he can make out the shock on his face, and they lock eyes. 

There’s a brief moment where Ranboo feels like everything is safe, everything will be _okay,_ but it over quickly a fear and anxiety and a little bit of nausea takes over and he makes a quiet sprint for his stairs.

It’s best that he pretends he went to sleep after all of this.

It’s best that he forgets completely about magic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL MR PHILZA MINECRAFT THIS IS THROWING A WRENCH IN YOUR PLAN TO ADOPT RANBOO HUH B)
> 
> This is one of the scenes I've seen so clearly since I posted, like, the third chapter. Of Tommy hanging off the iron bars outside Ranboo's window for dear life with Tubbo below him, trying to rescue Ranboo but failing spectacularly. Maybe if Wilbur or Techno were there, it would've gone differently. I guess we may never know.
> 
> Also, what's with that weird dream, Ranboo? :)
> 
> I don't have any other interesting commentary here other than this chapter surpassed 4k words and I'm now at 100 pages on my google doc for this story what the heck I--
> 
> But I'm glad y'all enjoyed the brief interlude!! Welcome back to your regularly scheduled Ranboo angst. Though, the end is inching closer to being in sight. Just hold hands guys, you can make it through together <3
> 
> See you in the next chapter!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/cosmonaughtt)  
> [tumblr](https://cosmonaughtt.tumblr.com/)


	12. Wait, Is This ACTUALLY Happening?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> ALSO, WE GOT [FANART???](https://allykatsart.tumblr.com/post/644107574378184704/some-sketches-from-this-amazing-fanfiction-by) AMAZING BEAUTIFUL AWESOME POG FANART?? THANK YOU. THANK YOU SO MUCH THAT'S SO COOL AAAAA

_ Phil’s office is a small room tucked into the back of the house. Bookshelves line the walls with a variety of things stacked carefully in them, from antique books that Techno cares for, to the cheesy romance novel that Tommy got him for last Christmas because the man on the front looked just like him, to trinkets and bookends from around the world and photos of family, photos of friends, a few plants with their leaves and vines stretching out and about… A lot of things, mostly gifted to him or his family. _

_ It was homey. There was a small plush chair pushed into the corner of the shelves with a few books stacked on top of it, and on the other side of the room was Phil’s desk, where he hunched over files of paper that were usually neatly organized within the drawers. _

_ But not tonight. _

_ Phil knows, without a fraction of a doubt, that the boy that Tommy and Tubbo had befriended what feels like so long ago but was only a few months ago  _ had _ to have a magical gift. Everything seemed to point in that direction. _

_ And he’s been looking into it, looking through old magical records that he tries to keep for the magical community of the town, trying to see if there was anyone who has gone missing that could be of some relation to Ranboo. _

_ But. _

_ It leads to dead end after dead end. _

_ Ranboo just appeared one day, in his son’s life and in life in general. And, well, maybe he’s from a family like Tubbo’s-- a family of non-magically inclined people. But Phil thought he had to at least try to look for any hints.  _

_ Phil didn’t want to put Ranboo on the spot that day; after all, he had been through a dreamon attack and had his world flipped upside-down in only a few hours. If he hadn’t mentioned being an orphan to Tommy or Tubbo, then it was his secret to divulge whenever he wanted to. He turned a blind eye when he dropped the boy off in front of the old building near the park.  _

_ Phil leans back in his chair. The rain has stopped, at least, but the autumn leaves are coming. It’s almost the beginning of October, and it had been one-- two days since the incident. _

_ This incident being Tommy trying to break Ranboo out of his orphanage. _

_ Phil had overheard Tommy planning with Tubbo something to save their friend. He had read the note that the tall boy had quickly given to them before completely ghosting them, and the words broke Phil’s heart. Having his own things burned because of a relation to magic? He couldn’t even begin to fathom that. _

_ He was thinking of it, though-- of going to that orphanage, of helping Ranboo out of it himself. He’s adopted two kids already, and with all the chaos already existing under his roof, another teenager wouldn’t be the end of the world. They had an extra bedroom for guests, but they never get out-of-town guests, so Ranboo could have it. Techno hardly used the room they had designated for him, so if they did get someone from out of town visiting, they could use that instead... _

_ And then, of  _ fucking _ course, he gets a call at midnight from the police telling him to pick up Tommy and Tubbo. He helped cover for Tubbo, but he never would have considered they would try and break Ranboo out like  _ that _ , more or less getting  _ caught _ that quickly. The nun who caught the two boys was the one that burned Ranboo’s journal, Phil knew it immediately, and the way he got chewed out by her-- _

_ A knock on his door brings him back to reality. He can tell through the door it’s Techno-- no overwhelming emotions, calm, stoic.  _

_ “You wanted to ask me something, Phil?” Techno asks. His hair is loose and untied, he isn’t wearing his glasses.  _

_ Oh, right. He sits up straighter a bit in the old desk chair.  _

_ “You wouldn’t happen to still know people who can forge shit, do you?” Phil asks.  _

_ He’s got a plan. Or the beginnings of a plan, at the very least, but he can’t do it alone. Techno, as long as he’s known the younger-looking man, has a lot of connections  _ everywhere _. And if Phil can’t go to the orphanage to get Ranboo, well... _

_ Techno’s usually emotionless face breaks out into a smirk. _

* * *

It isn’t often when someone comes to visit the orphanage. 

Ranboo’s had to mop, clean, dust, wipe down everything in the main hall, and Sister Joan has been barking cleaning orders at the younger kids as well as helping herself. The whole house was helping with cleaning, since Sister Agnes determined they had to have the place spotless, and the mystery person said that he would be coming  _ in an hour. _

Ranboo doesn’t get his hopes up anymore. He knows that no one would want to adopt a teenager, especially a teenager with all the issues that he has. But he can feel the excitement with the younger kids, and with the sisters as well.

There was a small wave of adoptions right as school seemed to start back up, and they’d only had one baby dropped off by their too-distant social worker in that amount of time. Sister Marie was devoting most of her time to nursing the almost newborn, and hasn’t had time for much else other than caring for herself, too, which meant everyone had more responsibilities.

Which meant Ranboo had more responsibilities on top of everything else, but he was used to balancing one too many books at this point.

It’s when the mystery man comes that Ranboo realizes  _ something _ is familiar about him. He can’t put his finger on it.

He’s tall, and he dresses in a bit of a unique style-- not businessman, but something more vintage, Ranboo thinks, as he tries to peer around the corner as Sister Agnes greets him with a fake smile like she does with everyone who comes to visit. A white shirt is tucked into brown trousers, something that reminds him of a prince but also  _ something more Ranboo can’t remember.  _ Some of the man’s hair is pulled up in a ponytail, while the rest of it falls past his shoulders. The light hits the man’s brown hair weirdly. 

Not the sort of man Ranboo would expect to be looking to adopt a kid, especially from a religious orphanage like this, but he thinks that the man must have some sort of  _ money _ for Sister Agnes to be letting him near the building.

Money that could go into taking care of the children, of course, not the pockets of any of the sisters. 

“Welcome, welcome, sir!” Sister Agnes says. She doesn’t reach out a hand or anything, merely keeps her hands folded together in front of her chest. “I will admit, I was shocked when you told me you were only a hour away in our phone call. Can I offer you any refreshments?”

Oh, yeah,  _ rich,  _ Ranboo thinks. Money unfortunately makes the world go round, and the orphanage has always been lacking-- they survive, but everything is getting old and worn-out, not to mention a decent chunk of the budget went into placing the bars outside Ranboo’s window for his safety.

“A water will be fine.” The man says.

His voice.

Ranboo knows his  _ voice.  _ He’s heard it before.

He slowly backs away from the corner, holding the broom in his hands tightly. He should probably go help Sister Joan with the children, making sure they’re all dressed nicely to meet the mysterious man, but his thoughts are threatening to drown him.

_ Where? Where? Where have I heard that voice before? Why can’t I remember it? _

_ Where? Why? _

“Ah, Ranboo, there you are.” Sister Joan’s voice slices through his thoughts like they were butter. “Can you make sure the younger boys are looking nice?”

“Yes ma’am.” Ranboo nods. He has to put the broom back, anyway, and he does, ditching it in the cleaning closet under the stairs and heading up as fast as he possibly can. The nuns were usually good about wrangling children in these events, but they were down one extra set of hands--  _ and he tries to ignore the pain in his chest, the way the golden chain feels cold on his skin under his shirt--  _ and with the newborn, it’s getting harder.

Sister Agnes says that they’re going to be getting a new Sister sent to the orphanage soon. An older lady who is looking to spend her final years closer to God, caring for young children, the whole schtick all the Sisters are at the orphanage for. Someone to take over for Marie in caring for the younger ones.

_ Sister Anne’s replacement-- _

No. He stops his thoughts as he gets to the door to the boy’s bathroom. He knocks on it. “Everything okay in there?”

“Yes!” A muffled voice comes from the other side. It’s Christian. After all these years, he’s still here. Ranboo can relate. But he’s still young, there’s still time for him. The bathroom door unlocks and opens.

The kids are getting dressed in the best clothes they have-- mostly their Sunday clothes. They want to look good for someone who might be their family soon, after all. They want to look presentable. Ranboo remembers fumbling with his Sunday clothes as a younger kid, when he still had hopes of finding a family.

“Do you know how to tie a tie?” Christian asks. The red tie is loose around his neck, and it looks like he’s been trying to fumble with it for the past few minutes with no success. 

Ranboo sighs and kneels down. It’s not going to be perfect, but it’ll still be tied and presentable, at least. 

“Thanks, Ranboo!” Christian says. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re about to go to church.” Ranboo responds with a smile. 

Christian nods, before running back off to his room to get his shoes. Ranboo still has to check on the two other boys, so he stands up from his kneel and stretches his legs.

* * *

He doesn’t want to be the one to follow the mystery man around, but he isn’t the only one eavesdropping on the man and Sister Agnes as they walk around the orphanage. The three younger boys and a girl joins him as he curiously watches from the landing, leaning over the rails of the stairs to see down.

“He looks rich,” one of the younger girls says. Her hair is neatly tied in braids, and she’s in a simple little pink dress. “Do you think he’s a prince?”

“Maybe!” A boy says. Christian laughs at them quietly, and Ranboo can’t help but roll his eyes with a smile.

They quiet down when the man and Sister Agnes get close enough to hear. Any minute now the children will go down to meet the man. Any moment, someone is going to find a new home.

Ranboo does feel a little bit of jealousy at that. All his life-- he’s wanted that moment to be for him. Maybe it’s a little selfish. Maybe someone else deserves it more than he does-- he still has a roof and food and a bed at the end of the day, he should be  _ thankful _ for that. But-- but he wants it to be  _ him,  _ for once.

But it won’t be.

It never is.

“Now, Mr. Billiam,” --is that his  _ name?  _ Ranboo has to bite the inside of his cheek, because what kind of name is  _ THAT?--  _ “May I ask what brought you to this place?”

They’re stopped not too far from the bottom of the stairs. The man--  _ Billiam _ \-- is awkwardly holding a paper cup that probably once had water or juice in it. Ranboo can’t remember what he asked for. 

“Sister, I’ll be honest. I’m getting older, I’m settling down, and all I’ve ever wanted to do is have a family. Even though I have no partner, the joy I would feel helping raise a child would be immeasurable.” The man says.

It’s weird.

Ranboo can’t place his finger on it. There’s something about Biliam’s tone-- is it the slight bit of annoyance he can feel, or is it a bit of a lie?-- that makes him think.

Not to mention, the voice is so familiar.  _ Why is it so familiar-- _

“You are a kind man, Billiam.” Sister Agnes responds. There’s a bit of the same  _ annoyance-lie-venom  _ in her tone, as well. But she’s sucking it up for the money, it seems. She turns her head up.

Everyone’s at the landing now, and even Ranboo feels a little bit of embarrassment at getting caught peeking in.

“Alright, children, come on down and meet Mr. Biliam.”

The younger kids try to go calmly, as they’re taught to do, but there is still excitement that they can barely bury in them. Christian jumps down over the last step, and the two girls line up with big smiles on their face.

Ranboo follows behind them. He’s always behind them, or at the other end, separated. Standing a little further away.

Always.

Because no one  _ wants _ teenagers. He knows this, the younger kids know this, even the Sisters know how hard it is for teenagers to be adopted. So he distances himself-- maybe it’s to his own detriment, but he’s been through hundreds of families visiting to find their new forever-family member. He’s felt the rejection, the straight-up neglect, from adults as they look at kids who don’t have memory problems and don’t struggle to deal with faces (and kids who don’t have sleepwalking issues as well, now).

If he distances himself a bit, it doesn’t hurt as much. 

“Children, this is Mr. Biliam.” Sister Agnes introduces, as if the children didn’t hear the man’s weird name. But it’s an official introduction. The younger kids smile and wave, some say  _ hello, _ and Ranboo looks up from where he was nervously scratching at one of his fingers.

And then.

It hits him. Immediately, like a truck. Why Billiam is so familiar. Why it feels weird, why he recognizes the man’s voice, why he remembers it, despite his bad memory. 

He swallows. If he tries to imagine the man with a different shade of hair, there is no mistaking it. 

Tommy’s brother is the only person that Ranboo has ever met with bright  _ pink _ hair. It looked like it had been poorly dyed brown, but Billiam--  _ not his name--  _ locks his eyes with Ranboo.

_ Technoblade. _

The man grins slyly when they lock eyes, and Ranboo finally recognizes, finally  _ remembers,  _ finally realizes why his mind has been trying to figure out the connections it was making.

“Ah, who’s the tall one, in the back?” He asks, keeping up the act perfectly.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

_ Oh my goodness.  _

“Huh?” Sister Agnes is just as caught-off guard, as is Sister Joan, who had rushed from the kitchen to be an extra eye on the children. If Sister Marie were there, she might drop the baby, but the baby was napping, and maybe Techno had already seen the baby at that point. “Oh, um. You mean Ranboo?” She motions with her hand for Ranboo to come closer.

He does, a little bit. His entire body felt stiff, but he moved it anyway. 

_ If Sister Anne were still here, how would she feel?  _ He tries to distract from the sudden dawning realization of what was occurring.  _ She should be here, she should be here to watch this-- _

_ \-- She  _ is _ watching from heaven,  _ Ranboo tells himself. Watching and clapping. Maybe she has some heavenly popcorn with her, as well. 

“Yes, him.” Techno takes a few steps closer. When the Sisters can’t see his face, he winks at Ranboo. 

“Well, Ranboo is definitely, um. An orphan, as well as the younger children.” Sister Agnes stumbles over her words a little bit. “He does have-- he does have some issues, with his memory, and he cannot recognize faces, and a few other things--”

Ah. He feels his ears burn as Sister Agnes prattles off on his  _ issues _ in front of everyone in the room. 

“Eh, everyone has problems.” Technoblade shrugs.

“He’s also-- older, than a lot of the younger children,” Sister Agnes adds. “So if you really wanted to have that family you mentioned, wouldn’t someone younger be a much more viable option?”

_ No, please, please. Stop.  _ Ranboo thinks, looking directly at the elder Sister. Even Sister Joan had began to give her a weird look. It’s his-- it’s his first chance to actually be adopted. It’s the first time that someone’s been interested in him.

It’s his only chance.

He thinks-- no. He  _ knows that _ Techno being there disguised as another man is probably a plan by Phil, since he and Tommy and Tubbo were banned from being on the property of the orphanage with the  _ threat _ of a restraining order. He knows-- he knows it means that they’re trying to get him out of the orphanage. He knows. 

He couldn’t do it the other night when Tommy was knocking on his window. It was the middle of the night-- he would be technically  _ running away, he would be taken back if he was found,  _ it wouldn’t be a good idea. 

But the orphanage is suffocating him. More and more, with each passing day, not just with chores he’s having to do to cover the loss of adults in the house. But with the attitudes. With the echo of a key in his door at night that’s meant to keep him safe but makes him feel more trapped than every before.

Because the truth is, he’s not fine anymore. Maybe he was lying to himself-- no, Ranboo was definitely lying to himself. He  _ isn’t _ fine. And he wants to be a part of that world-- the world that Tommy and Tubbo and Phil and Techno and  _ whateverthenameofTommy’sotherbrotherwasRanbooforgot _ \-- the world of  _ magic _ \-- because it can’t be a sin, can it?

God made everything in His image-- nothing can change that. Ranboo is supposed to love everything like He does.  _ And that includes magic, right? _

Technoblade lets the words sink in. Maybe seriously, maybe not. It’s hard to read. 

“If he’s older, then he already knows how to take care of himself. Sounds like a better deal to me.” There’s a laugh at the end.

No one laughs with him. Sister Agnes just blinks at him in response, and she takes a deep breath. 

“Mr. Billiam, would you like to come to my office to talk about this?” She glances at Ranboo. “You can come as well, Ranboo.”

He’s never felt like his life was in more danger than at that moment. And there was that literal  _ monster _ encounter he had a while ago, where his life was definitely in danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I BET YOU DIDN'T SEE **THAT** COMING!_
> 
> This is probably, like. My favorite plot point that I thought of in the first few chapters and went "Yeah. This needs to happen" and it's HAPPENING. Because, well, if Phil can't adopt Ranboo, and Wilbur is barely an adult on his own, there's only one person left and that's Techno. Does he have an emotional attachment to Ranboo? Not yet, but he sees how important Ranboo is to Tommy and Tubbo (and Phil safsd) that, when asked, sure, he'll use cheap hair dye and go undercover and adopt a kid. Why the hell not?
> 
> I was a little bit worried that I might be moving too fast but also this is my story. I can do what I want. There's more angst and trouble to come, of course, but hey, maybe we're FINALLY on the upswing? 
> 
> This chapter started to get SUPER LONG so this part of the story isn't done yet, but the next part will probably be up pretty soon :)
> 
> AGAIN CHECK THE NOTES AT THE BEGINNING FOR THE SUPER COOL FANART WE GOT!! 
> 
> See you guys then! :D <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/cosmonaughtt)  
> [tumblr](https://cosmonaughtt.tumblr.com/)


	13. Well, THAT Just Happened. And So Did This.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ MORE FANART FROM ALLYKATS THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS MAKES MY HEART EXPLODE /pos](https://cosmonaughtt.tumblr.com/post/644482738870796288/allykatsart-a-new-chapter-dropped-for-promised)

Kids aren't usually allowed in Sister Agnes’ office. Sure, when someone gets adopted, finds their forever home, their new family brings them into the office to sign all the final papers. But most of the time it’s closed off, the door shut, whether the head of the orphanage was in there working or not.

So being in it makes Ranboo feel like _s_ _omething_ is about to happen. He doesn’t know what. 

The walls are high in the room, and large windows open up to the side yard of the house, opposite of his own room. An old Apple desktop sits on the desk, where some papers are piled up neat and orderly. There’s a photo of the Pope on one of the walls, along with a cross and a smaller chair and table in one corner. There’s a lamp and a bible on the table, but it looks a little dusty.

Other than that, the room feels bare. Empty. Cold.

“I suppose we should get this process started.” Sister Agnes says, taking a seat by the computer. On the other side of the desk are two other chairs, evenly spaced apart.

The room was _really_ big and empty. It felt… lifeless. Ranboo really didn’t like it.

She adjusts her glasses. “Mr. Billiam, I want to ask you this _again,_ are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Techno nods without hesitation. “Yeah, you don’t really need to keep questioning it. I want to adopt Ranboo.”

Were it not for the cold and empty feeling in the room, Ranboo would probably break out into tears. It was happening. It was finally happening-- the thing he had been praying for, the thing he had been begging for. He had imagined the day so many times when he was younger--

\-- _and, well, he didn’t expect it to be the brother of the first friends he made outside of the orphanage_ \--

\-- yet here he was. This was happening.

The sister nods, and turns to her computer, but Ranboo glances around the room and notices something that maybe he should have noticed before. Something that stood out. 

_Sister Agnes doesn’t have a shadow._ Despite being lit up from behind her by the late-afternoon cloudy sky, she didn’t have a shadow.

The feeling crashes into him instantly. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s _wrong it’s wrong._ Something is telling him to run.

_Run._

It makes him shudder, and Techno glances at Ranboo with a confused look on his face, before turning back to Sister Agnes. 

_Why? Why does it suddenly feel so w r o n g ?_ Ranboo thinks. It should be the best day of his life, but something is wrong about this. Something is definitely wrong. 

The pit in his stomach grows, as he watches Sister Agnes slowly type on the keyboard to find something. What? His records? Something for Techno to fill out? He didn’t know. But it seemed normal.

It _should_ be normal.

* * *

_It can’t believe this is happening._

_After the weeks it has spent feasting off the tall boy’s misery, with the misery of the religious sister and everyone else in the damned orphanage, in comes some_ **_man_ ** _trying to take it all away._

 _Not some_ **_random_ ** _man. A man who’s been a threat to the King for years. It could smell the magic a mile away, but it wasn’t expecting the_ **_man_ ** _to take away one of its prey._

_It is supposed to be Prince. It is supposed to rule alongside its King._

_No. No, it will_ **_not let this get away from it._ **

_It has a chance. The man doesn’t know its here-- the tall boy is picking up on it. It notices the way the boy shudders just like the boy did that one day, moons ago, in the outside world with the other two boys it had been stalking. But the tall boy doesn’t make any moves-- he doesn’t remember what it was like to face down a dreamon. It doesn’t remember why the feeling is there._

_Good._

_All the more to take it by surprise--_

* * *

Ranboo keeps his eyes locked forward. He doesn’t want to look anywhere-- maybe, if he doesn’t focus on anything, the time will go by quickly, and he won’t have to be in the quiet, empty room much longer. 

Techno keeps trying to strike up conversation as Sister Agnes sifts through papers, but nothing is working. It’s awkward, and even though Techno doesn’t literally stumble over his words, keeps up the posh voice, and tries to not let it bother him, Ranboo can tell that Techno is wearing thin, too.

He keeps his eyes locked forward. Looking for anything that resembles a shadow on Sister Agnes. 

And, it does come. Not in the way Ranboo ever would expect, or want. It flickers in the corner of his eye, a little bit of shadow, growing on the desk. Maybe he had been seeing things. Maybe he had just imagined, out of complete stress, that Sister Agnes didn’t have a shadow. 

Stress upon disbelief of his current situation, mixed with everything he’s been through within the last few weeks.

Sister Anne’s cross is ice-cold on his skin when he sees the shadow scatter again, and the voice in his head tells him to _RUN._

The elder sister stops in her reading, putting a hand to her head, leaning into it. She looked more tired than Ranboo has _ever_ seen her, as if years had suddenly aged onto her all at once. “My apologies, Mr. Billiam, my head has started to spin a lot…”

“Oh, no, you’re fine.” He can’t tell if the sincerity in Techno’s voice is real or not. But does it matter? Probably not. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, I just…” Her arms are shaking. Her whole body is shaking. “Need… a moment…” 

And she promptly faints on her desk with a _thud._

The shadow returns. But this time the shadow has eyes. And it grows-- it grows up from the collapsed nun, taller and taller, becoming more lucid and more _real_ before their very eyes. 

The eyes. Ranboo might be blind to faces, _but he remembers the eyes of a dreamon very well._

It doesn’t have a strict form-- the one before had become a strange bear-like creature from a small squirrel, but this one doesn’t form itself into anything except something he would imagine a nightmare would be made out of. 

Techno stands up from his chair so suddenly that he knocks it over, and Ranboo follows (though, he doesn’t knock over his chair). The older man steps in front of him. 

“I should’ve seen this coming.” Techno sighs. “No wonder this place stinks.”

Ranboo would hope not _literally,_ because he had spent a good hour today trying to clean it up for the man, back when he was sure how the rest of his day was going to go-- watching another kid find their loving family that God intended, going back to the usual cycle he’s been tormented with for the past few weeks. 

Techno reached for one of his pockets, pulling out what looked to be another pendant with an amaryllis on it, like the one that Tommy had used what felt like so long ago. _It blinded him, why would Techno use that, nothing makes sense--_ but it doesn’t glow a bright, blinding white like the last one did.

Well, it did glow, but this time, it was not as intense, and had a bit of a pink hue to it. Techno swung it around his wrist and it glowed, changing shape and size, until a shortsword formed. 

_Oh._ “Um, did that necklace just change into a sword?” Ranboo asks before he can stop and think about how _dumb_ of a question that is.

“Yep.” 

And the dreamon lunged. Techno pushed Ranboo back, catching the clawed attack from the monster with the side of his sword with ease. 

“Ranboo,” Techno pushes forward with his sword, digging his heels into the ground. Any normal person would have had to use extraordinary force with that sort of attack and creature, but it doesn’t look like he breaks out into a sweat as he pushes the creature back. “Get back and close your eyes. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

Ranboo nods, slowly backing away until his body hits the wall, and he looks away.

Something screamed. Loudly, painfully, a cacophonous screech that would burn into Ranboo’s ears. There was a light, too, but he didn’t want to look. 

He’s-- he’s only seen Sister Anne die. Her death was sudden, quiet, but just as painful. She didn’t make any noise as she took her final breath.

But this thing? This thing _cried,_ it clawed its way to Ranboo’s brain as it released its final breaths. It was a painful death, but it was quick, too.

Luckily.

For either the dreamon or Ranboo? He didn’t know. 

The white light faded, and Ranboo dared to open an eye.

Techno puts the sword-pendant thing back into his pocket, and turns to Ranboo. There isn’t a scratch on his face, and the empty room looks just as barren and empty as it had before. It’s as if nothing had just happened, except maybe Techno getting up too quickly from his chair and knocking it over.

“What just happened.” Ranboo doesn’t ask it very well-- it comes out more as a statement.

Techno runs a hand through his hair, fixing it. “I just saved your life. You’re welcome.” He grabs the chair with his foot and pulls it back up like that because he’s _cool_ , or something. He blanks at Ranboo’s facial expression-- Ranboo wasn’t sure, but it was probably a mix of shock and confusion. “Well, you’ve seemed to have a bit of a dreamon problem for who knows how long, I took care of it for you.”

“T-thanks. I guess.” He walks back over to the desk slowly, tilting his head at Sister Agnes. “Um, is she going to be okay?”

Techno nods, sitting back in his seat. “Yeah, she’ll be fine-- probably wake up any second now.” He waves it off, as if fighting monsters was _casual_ to him. Which, with what Ranboo had been witness too-- not with his sight, but with every sound he’d heard just a few seconds ago-- it probably was. “Dreamons might occasionally eat human flesh, but it’s incredibly rare. They like to feed on human misery, instead-- and the more they feed, the more they can create. They can hook onto people, usually one or two, and just endlessly create misery to survive.”

“Oh.” Ranboo nods. Sister Agnes looks like she’s sleeping peacefully. She’s breathing, though-- that’s good. He nervously goes back to sit down in his seat. “So we wait now?”

Techno held up three fingers. _Two. One._

Sister Agnes jolts back up. She looks less tired than she had before-- it still weighed on her, it seemed, but it looks like some big weight had been taken off her chest. Something had been freed-- _how long? How long had Ranboo been living with a dreamon, how long had he not noticed?_

Now that he takes a second to think about it, his chest feels a little lighter, too. Not just from the adrenaline of another dreamon encounter, but it feels like something has been lifted off his chest as well. _Had it been feeding off him, too?_

“Ah, I’m sorry. Was I spacing out for a moment?” Sister Agnes’ voice is a little lighter now. 

Techno nods, playing around. “I believe you were looking for Ranboo’s medical records!” He says, without hesitation.

Sister Agnes nods. “Right, thank you.” She pulls out a few files. “Well, do you have the papers with you as well, sir? All you need to do is give me those, sign a few things, and it’s all done.”

And the realization was allowed to settle in, this time. More than it had before, it felt-- maybe, hearing the word _done_ helps it settle in more, maybe, the weight on his chest that he didn’t know was a big problem being gone left more room for it, but it hit him.

Ranboo-- the tall, kind but awkward teenage orphan, with a few medical issues, a sleepwalking problem-- was going to be adopted.

* * *

Techno had come prepared, and had dipped out only briefly before bringing a suitcase so Ranboo could go up to his room and take the things he wanted to with him. The final papers were signed, everything was done, a rather thick wad of money was pushed in an envelope over the desk when Ranboo was pretending to not look-- it was done.

It was finished. He was adopted.

The suitcase was smart, he decided, even though one of the wheels wasn’t rolling properly as he pulled it through the hallway. He had seen younger kids shove their belongings into trash bags and whatever they could find in their rooms because no parent had come prepared enough to adopt a kid and give them something to put their meager belongings in before leaving. 

He never imagined to be one of those kids, trying to figure out how to pack up their things excitedly, giving everyone a last goodbye hug, to be whisked away for a new life. Well, he did when he was younger-- not anymore. Not recently.

Yet here he was, in that exact scenario.

Because he was alone in his room, it was rather easy to decide what to take. He could hear a few kids peering in through the cracked-open door he left behind him as he looked at what he owned.

Other than school things-- not much. 

He definitely threw the few stuffed animals he had at the end of his bed into the suitcase first, but of things that belonged to him? Other than clothes, his existence at the orphanage was very minimal. And even then, most of his clothes were hand-me-downs, clothes that were lovingly repaired and mended before being tossed.

Ranboo takes the clothes. He’s only got a few pairs of jeans, polo shirts, plain t-shirts, and his church clothes. It’s not much, but it’s _his_ , it’s one of the few things he considers to be _his_ , so he takes them and folds them neatly 

He gets to his desk, and stops. There’s a few papers cluttered over it, ditched after he heard Sister Marie yelling for the children to help clean as fast as they can, get downstairs. He was looking through his old journals, looking at the pages he had written loosely and shoved into backs of books because he still hadn’t gotten a new notebook to write his thoughts in, he didn’t know when he would get a new one--

Sitting on top of his desk is the scrap from his old journal.

_Magic._

He grabs it tenderly and sighs. He never could have imagined that something as small as running into two boys at the park over the summer could change his life as significantly as this had.

A knock on his door pulls him through his thoughts, instincts kick in and he shoves the little piece of paper-- what remains-- back into his pocket and turns around quickly.

Sister Agnes stands at his door-- leans against it, more or less. His memories decide it’s good to remind him of the last time she had been standing at his door, green notebook in hand, but this time.

This time, it’s different.

For one, she doesn’t have his journal-- or anything to hold over him. Her hands are respectfully held together. Her face is softer. Solemn. She still looks tired, like she could close her eyes and collapse at any moment again, but she stands in his doorframe as the sounds of quick footsteps echo down the hall.

“I will admit, I never thought I would see the day that you would be leaving, Ranboo.” She says. She doesn’t step closer into his room. She stands still-- leans, still? She’s leaning slightly on his doorframe. “It makes my heart happy that you may have finally found your home, and your family.” 

“I’m happy, too.” Ranboo says. He awkwardly stands at his desk chair. He tries to push the memories back. It doesn’t work.

“That’s good.” Sister Agnes gives him a smile. It’s forced, it’s strained-- she’s tired. She’s very tired, how had Ranboo not paid attention to it before? “I… I will admit, I feel like these past few weeks I’ve been lost in a fog. I don’t remember a lot of things, exactly-- I’m sure you would understand.”

Ranboo nervously laughs, nodding.

“...But I think. I think I may have hurt you, and my other sisters, and the other children during this fog.” She takes a shaky breath. “And I’m sorry. Grief does a lot of awful things to people. I don’t think I was entirely myself. And I hurt you. And I’m sorry.”

Oh.

Ranboo feels tears burn in his eyes, but he rubs them away quickly. He can’t see her face, he can’t make out the detail, but he can tell, just like he’s taught himself how to, he can tell that SIster Agnes is _really apologising._

She’s sorry. Ranboo should forgive her-- that’s what the Bible says he should do.

But. He doesn’t feel _ready._ He had his memories burned away from his mind. A few things stayed, but a good portion of the last few months were just gone. He’s had to endure a lot more work on top of everything else. He’s had his first friends torn away from him. Ranboo had been through a lot.

“I don’t come asking for forgiveness, of course.” She gives him a smile-- a shaky, broken, forced, strained smile. “That’s the thing about when people hurt you. Even though God says you should always forgive, he doesn’t tell you to forgive immediately. I can only hope that you can, one day, forgive me for what I did.”

Ranboo nods. His mouth is incredibly dry. “Not now,” he admits. “Not today. But one day.”

Sister Agnes nods, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Ranboo. Sister Anne would be so incredibly proud of you, if she was still here today. I meant what I said back then.”

 _Hm?_ Ranboo-- he doesn’t remember.

“You’re incredibly strong, and brave, even if you don’t think you are.” 

His hand goes up to the cross around his neck. He pulled it out from under his shirt to tug on gently, to help him think as he looked through what he really wanted to take and keep with him, a habit he’s gotten into instead of picking at the skin around his nails or the fraying hems of his shirts. It feels warm.

He doesn’t remember the last time he felt warm. He watches Sister Agnes nod to him and leave, leaving the door cracked as it had been behind her.

He doesn’t remember the last time he felt warm.

But it was nice. 

* * *

It was strange to see the orphanage in the rearview mirror as Techno drove him away from it the last time. It’s bittersweet, his fingers gently rub over the golden cross around his neck and it feels like a few tears might leak their way out of his eyes.

It felt like he was trapped, for so long, but he would miss the place. Miss the memories, maybe. 

His melancholy thoughts are broken by Techno grunting, loudly.

“Finally, I thought that was going to take _forever._ ” He adjusts the rearview mirror, not paying attention to the road and messing with his hair. “Can’t wait to get back home and fix my hair back.”

Ranboo lets out the small, airy laugh that one gets for a second. “You dyed your hair to do this?”

“Eh, kinda. It’s a quick fix, but I still don’t like it.” Techno says, fixing the rearview mirror again. 

A beat of silence. 

“Those papers were fake, weren’t they?” Ranboo asks, the thought coming into his mind immediately and coming out immediately. 

“Yep.” Techno says.

“How did you do that?”

“Well, Ranboo, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you meet a few people here and there who know how to get away with stuff like that.” 

“... Wait, how old are you? You barely look twenty!”

Techno gives him a smirk, and says nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I was not expecting to take a break from writing and see the entirety of the DreamSMP fandom broken over a 30-minute livestream. Welcome to March, I guess.
> 
> ANYWAY. Here's the thing about Sister Agnes and her "Dreamon" possession. Dreamons in this lore don't full-out possess someone-- when they feed on grief and misery and all the bad, ugly feelings we have, it makes more and gives them more to feed off, creating an endless cycle. They latch onto people, and they make maybe hidden desires, those impulsive, intrusive thoughts and ideas into our heads a reality sometimes. Not saying that every bad person has a dreamon possesion, or people who have intrusive thoughts are all possessed by dreamons, but it's just a side effect that can happen. So Sister Agnes doesn't remember _exactly_ what she did to Ranboo for the past few weeks. But she knows she did bad things, and she wanted to apologize.
> 
> Here's the other thing-- in my experience, you're taught to forgive when people apologize. Even if they hurt you badly, forgiveness > anything else. But maybe it's me inching in a bit of my own philosophy into Sister Agnes so she's not the Big Bad Evil Lady, but Ranboo doesn't _have_ to forgive her. I don't _have_ to forgive people who hurt me, and neither should anyone else. Good distinction to make. 
> 
> Emotional angst aside, badass Techno confirmed. The last little bit I have been waiting for to write for days :) So glad that I'm getting into the upswing now. Or, well. Kinda. It's gonna be up and down for a while, but it's definitely going to get out of all the Ranboo Angst(TM) that y'all have been suffering with since the beginning for a while, at least.
> 
> After all, there's still a lot of unanswered questions, isn't there? 
> 
> :)
> 
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	14. Guess This Is My Home Now. As Tommy Would Say, "Pog".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS ALMOST FORGOT TO SHARE WITH Y'ALL THE AMAZING FANART!!!
> 
> [HERE'S A PIECE BY INKRAKEN ON TUMBLR!! LOOK HOW COOL THE DREAMON IS!!](https://cosmonaughtt.tumblr.com/post/644597834260348928/here-you-go-sir)

Home.

It’s a strange, four-letter word to Ranboo. For all that he could remember, after all, he had no home that he could speak of. He was abandoned at four years old and his family before that, his home before that, long forgotten, as if they were wiped away by the rain he stood in on the front porch of the orphanage.

And maybe, for a little bit, the orphanage was his home. The church was his home, too-- both will always be a part of him. He might forget the little details, but he has some of his journals left, some of his memories kept intact. It never really felt like  _ home _ , but it was food, it was shelter, it was warm blankets and sunny summer afternoons playing outside and December nights leaving out his shoes for Saint Nicholas day and counting down the days of Lent and Fridays without meat before Easter. The orphanage was a lot of things-- but never, permanently, his home.

It was meant to be temporary. Ranboo was only meant to be there for a little while, until a family adopted him-- or, the worst-case scenario, he hit eighteen and became an adult. 

The orphanage was also the place where he would be locked in his room every night to prevent sleepwalking himself into danger. It was the place that kept him sheltered for most of his life. It was the place-- it was not a place of all happy memories. 

Unfortunate, that his memory loss would affect those happier memories more than the sadder ones.

But  _ home _ is something Ranboo would never expect to feel in a place. Maybe, one day, long down the road, when he settles into a house and has his own family, or whatever God has planned for him, he would finally feel at  _ home.  _ At home, at peace, somewhere, one day. Never anytime soon.

Not now.

He’d given up hope of ever being adopted. He’d given up hope of having a family, of having a home, until he built it all up for himself in the future.

But life has a funny way of turning out okay, sometimes, Ranboo thinks, as Techno pulls the small, yellow car into the driveway of Tommy’s-- of Phil’s-- of  _ Ranboo’s  _ home.

It was an instant feeling-- not one that he could describe very well. But it was  _ his home,  _ his new home, he had a home,  _ a home.  _

He’d been to this house a few times over the summer after the attack by the dreamon, but his memory always left out the details. It was a lot bigger than it seemed, stretching back further and into an orchard sprawling through a good acre or so. Tommy’s room was one of the windows on the second floor that could see the orchard very well. The furniture is all odd, mis-matched, colorful and tacky but in the best way possible. 

He takes a deep breath as Techno opens the front door.

“AYY, RANBOO!” Tommy’s loud-- as he usually is-- and is quite a force to be reckoned with, even with his magic, and he slams immediately into Ranboo and hugs him. 

It nearly knocks Ranboo over. If he didn’t have a good bit of height over Tommy, maybe it would have, but Ranboo catches himself and awkwardly returns the hug.

Phil’s nearby, and so is Tommy’s other brother-- well, it would be Ranboo’s brother now, right?

Well. He hadn’t had a chance to think that new fact over. He has-- Ranboo has  _ three _ brothers, now. Not just a mom and a dad, not just a single parent, but a bigger family then he could have ever  _ dreamed. _

Other-brother--  _ Wilbur,  _ Ranboo put two-and-two together quickly when Techno mentioned something about Wilbur and it rang a bell in Ranboo’s head, he can’t believe how  _ awful _ he is with names and memories-- smirks, leaning against the stair railing, and Phil lets out a light chuckle.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how upset Tubbo is that he couldn’t be here for this!” Tommy says, backing out of the hug. He’s bouncing around a lot, and the way he moves, Ranboo can tell that he’s using his magic. His jump is a little bit higher, his hair is windswept through everything. “It’s so good to see you, man.”

“It’s-- it’s good to see you, too.” Ranboo sighs. He feels tears threatening to come out, and wipes them away quickly. “I certainly wasn’t expecting, well… Any of this.”

“Phil sees a kid in need, he can’t resist helping.” Techno comments, monotone, as he walks down the hall, away from the tearful reunion. “Hey, Phil, you got something cooking?”

“Just a bit of dinner.” Phil turns his head to respond. He looks back at Ranboo. “You don’t have any allergies, or anything, right? Or dietary stuff?”

Ranboo shook his head. “No-- not that I’m, um, aware of.”

“Cool. Hope you like some meatloaf, then.” He says. His smile is wide, wider than Ranboo has ever seen on anyone (other than Tommy, probably). Phil lets out a bit of a shaky sigh. “Welcome home, Ranboo.”

Oh, yeah. Now the tears are falling, but he doesn’t do much but try and fail to wipe them off his cheeks. Phil approaches slowly, before wrapping Ranboo up in a big hug.

It’s warm. The house smells like something is cooking-- not burning, but cooking, a pleasant mixture of spices and something warm-- and there’s laughter. It’s bright.

_ Ranboo is home. _

* * *

“And this is your room!” Tommy had elected to be the official Tour Guide for Ranboo, while Phil and Techno finished dinner. Wilbur joined, too, and made the occasional joke.

He knew where the bathroom was, on the second floor. He also knew where Tommy’s room was (one he remembered, with the metal lofted bed and large desktop computer and fun LED lights lined up on the wall), he had seen a peek of Wilbur’s room, at the insistence of Tommy (it was cozy and warm, with a guitar and a ukulele and a piano all pushed to one side of the room, and a simple bed and dresser in the other), and the doors to Phil and Techno’s rooms, on the other end of the hall. 

Tommy opens the door and swings his hands wildly in the air.

The room is simple. It’s a dark blue color, with one of the walls an exposed brick. There’s a closet on one wall, with doors that look like they slide open. The bed is bigger than what Ranboo used to have-- twice as big as his old twin, at  _ least _ \-- and it has plain gray sheets on it. The wood of the nightstands and dresser are both dark, and there’s a window to the orchard, just like Tommy has.

They’re room-neighbors. It’s the door right next to Tommy’s. 

“It used to be the guest bedroom, that’s why it’s plain.” Wilbur explains, following them in. “But we don’t get guests who need the second-floor guest room, anyway.”

Ah. That explains it.

“Phil says he’s gonna take you out this week to go shopping for clothes n’ stuff.” Tommy flops on the bed, and it bounces a bit under his weight. He seems to read Ranboo’s face well. “Suck it up, bitch, you’re a part of the family now, Phil’s gonna let you go crazy on the room.”

_ Crazy? _

“I mean, nothing can be crazier than what Tommy first suggested, so I’d say anything can go.” Wilbur snips in. Ranboo glances at him. “He wanted a treehouse in his room.”

“Fuck off! I like to sleep high up, alright?” Tommy huffs, crossing his arms. “A loft bed is pretty close.” He mumbles.

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Well, dinner will probably be another five minutes, so you have time to unpack.” He says. He eyes Tommy. “C’mon Tommy, let’s give Ranboo time to unpack.”

Tommy nods. “If you need anything, just come knockin’! Either on my door or on the wall.” He gives him a quick finger-guns, and before Ranboo knows it, the door shuts behind him, and he’s standing in the room alone.

His room.

The suitcase of all his belongings feel incredibly small compared to what he has before him. It’s probably close to the same size as his old room-- maybe a little bigger, but it feels about the same size, especially with the bigger bed in it. There’s a few empty spaces in the room, too-- where he would assume a desk could go. Maybe a bookshelf.

Ranboo lifts the suitcase onto the bed and zips it open. His clothes and his belongings are all folded up comfortably and neatly inside. A quick check to the closet shows he doesn’t have any hangers-- fine, he has a dresser that will hold most of his clothes, at least, and he can reorganize later.

He stops in his thoughts. It’s his room.  _ His _ room. The bed is his bed, the dresser is  _ his _ dresser, the window is his window, the closet is his-- he feels a little pang of guilt in his heart, looking at all the things that are suddenly  _ his.  _ But he can’t help but feel a little excited.

The furniture at the orphanage always felt like… a loan. Like it was given to him, but it wasn’t  _ his _ in the way that his clothes could be his or his journals were his. It was old furniture with scuffed paint donated by members of the church to  _ orphans in need _ , all of it had wear and tear to them. His desk chair wobbled if he leaned too far back into it, they had to get the gardener to help saw the legs of his dresser to be more even when it arrived. The bed was just dragged from one of the boy’s rooms-- it was a little bigger, of course, but nothing special, still a twin bed like he’d slept in for most of his life.

But now things are  _ his _ , and it’s a little exciting to think about. And-- he can do with his room whatever he wants to do.

All this power, all this control, is so frighteningly  _ new _ to him.

But he’s so excited for it.

The stuffed animals that he’s kept through his childhood fit comfortably on top of the dresser, and his journals and loose pieces of paper fit next to them. The bible he’s had for years goes on his nightstand without a second thought, but the last thing in his suitcase is the wooden rosary.

The wooden rosary Sister Agnes gave him that first time, over the summer, when he had gotten in trouble. The grains in the wood are familiar to Ranboo, and it has carved its own way into his palms. He picks it up gingerly, and sets it on top of the bible next to his bed.

Ranboo takes a shaky breath. He-- well, he hasn’t thought about  _ church _ yet. Most of his new family (weird to think about, Ranboo pushes those complicated feelings down) seems pretty…. Non-religious. What was Ranboo supposed to do? There was no instruction. Nothing to tell him what to do-- the nuns had been convinced that the man who adopted Ranboo,  _ Billiam,  _ was a religious man, because who would go to a religious orphanage to adopt a child if they were not at least a little religious themselves?

It was still a Tuesday. He had time until Sunday to deal with those complicated feelings.

Plus, dinner was ready. He heard the echo through the house--  _ how could Phil  _ yell  _ that loud? _ \-- and heard Tommy hit the floor in the room next to him. Hopefully he had just jumped from his lofted bed. 

Hopefully.

* * *

The dinner table is just as lop-sided as Ranboo remembers it his first time. There’s an extra chair on one side, and Ranboo assumes it’s for him. Everyone goes to the counter to get their fair share of dinner, and he can’t help but marvel at the smell of dinner.

He didn’t think he’d be a fan of meatloaf, but what Phil made looked and smelled  _ divine.  _ Glancing at the plates, too, it seems like they’re just as mis-matched as all the other things in this house. Tommy has a teal green plate, while Wibur grabs one that is a mustard color and has a bit more of a bowl shape to it. The silverware doesn't match. Phil’s drinking something out of a mug that looks handmade, while Techno looks like he’s drinking  _ water _ from a  _ wine glass.  _

Well, this is just what Ranboo has to get used to now, he thinks.

There’s no prayer before the meal, because when Tommy sits down he immediately digs into dinner. Ranboo heistates, throws out a quick mental prayer--  _ Thank you God for this food--  _ before he takes a bite of the food that’s been making his stomach growl for the past five minutes.

And it’s good.

It’s  _ so good.  _

“You like it, Ranboo?” Phil asks. He’s looking through files-- by the looks of it, Ranboo’s files from the orphanage that Techno had gotten just earlier that day. Seeing them, sitting in the dining room like this, nothing felt  _ real _ yet to him.

He nods. “Y-yes, it’s very good. Thank you.”

Ranboo gets a small smile in return, and there’s a beat of silence.

And then Techno speaks up.

“There was a dreamon at the orphanage.”

Tommy chokes on his food, Wilbur stops in his tracks, and Phil glances up from looking at the files, taking a sip from his mug. 

Tommy leans back in his chair, desperately coughing on the bits of meatloaf that he was choking on. Ranboo tries to hit his back as gently as possible to dislodge it.

“You-- can’t just fucking _ drop _ that out of nowhere!”

“When else would you want to hear about it?” Techno retorts, throwing his hands up. “I thought the deal was to let you know when something happened, and, well, something  _ happened. _ ”

_ Deal?  _ Ranboo wonders, as Tommy finally stops choking on the bits of meatloaf and Phil pinches the bridge of his nose. The thought goes away just as quickly, when Phil speaks.

“You’ve got a point,” Wilbur says, poking at the meatloaf again and casually taking a bite of it. He doesn’t seem too bothered by anything, really-- Ranboo can’t help but feel a little jealous. He would love to be unbothered like that.

“Anyway, as I was about to explain before I was  _ rudely _ interrupted…” Techno glares daggers at Tommy, who sticks up his middle finger as a response. Ranboo tries harder to focus on his food, but, he knows deep down inside that this is the life he is going to have now.

\-- Hm. That’s a  _ thought _ , and it hits him like everything else has been hitting him. But perhaps he’ll just sneak a cry later when he goes to bed and he’s sure everyone is asleep, like he usually does.

“...There was a dreamon at the orphanage. It was decently strong, for one that young, but pretty easy to take care of. It had latched onto… Um.” Techno glances at Ranboo.

“Sister Agnes,” he supplies. “She’s the, um. Head caregiver, I guess you can say.” 

“Yes, her.” Techno turns back, mostly focusing on Phil. He seems to be taking in the story as he’s looking through Ranboo’s files. Multitasking.  _ Is that his magic?  _ Ranboo wonders.

He doesn’t know anyone else’s magic-- he’s sure, he would at least  _ remember _ something about it. Tommy’s magic was forgotten, but seeing it work in person again jogged Ranboo’s memory, that night they tried to break him out. But he knew it had to do something with wind, or something, and Tubbo-- well, it was something about being incredibly strong, he thinks. The details are muddy and foggy, but if he focuses, he can remember something.

But he doesn’t remember anything else about-- well, anyone else at the table. He hadn’t been around Wilbur or Techno for too long for him to learn about them, and no one had ever said anything worth remembering. 

He’ll find out, he supposes.

Eventually.

“... Looks like it had been hanging on for a few weeks, at most.” Techno adds, bringing Ranboo back to the conversation. The pink-haired man shrugs, returning to his dinner. “Maybe a month or two, if it’s been hunting. It’s gone now, so the orphanage is safe, I suppose.”

_ A few weeks.  _ Ranboo’s hand instinctively goes up to the golden cross around his neck. Had it--  _ had it been waiting? Had it been waiting for something bad to happen, and when Sister Anne…. Did it attack then?  _

It.

Well, it explains  _ a lot.  _ Of why Sister Agnes got progressively harsher. She wasn’t in complete control. She was acting on bad thoughts, of course, the bad thoughts one gets that one pushes back into their mind as if they never happened, the ones they don’t talk about. But since Sister Anne?

_ How long had Ranboo been blind to it? _

“Anyway, change of topic.” Phil suddenly clears his throat. It makes Ranboo jump. Phil turns his head to Ranboo. “I’m sure someone already told you, but since you’re now a part of the family, I want to make sure you feel at home, yeah? So whenever you want to this week, we’ll take you out to get some stuff for your room, and maybe some more clothes.” 

Ranboo nods. “S-sounds good.”

Phil gives him a smile. It’s a warm smile. It’s a smile that  _ feels  _ like home.

They finish dinner soon after that, and Tommy and Wilbur argue while rinsing off dishes. It seems Ranboo isn’t expected to help out with any chores, until he gets settled-- which, he doesn’t mind. A few weeks of overloading chores made him exhausted, and so much had happened in the day alone that he would probably forget what he was doing mid-action and drop and break a plate.

Probably.

It happened before. He tries to focus when he’s helping clean, but his head gets full and he forgets what he’s doing, sometimes. At least with plates, he can pretend it just slips out of his hand. It can be an accident.

The sun has set. It makes Ranboo nervous, ever more so. Not only is it the first time he’s slept in a different  _ building _ than the orphanage-- he’s never gone on the youth trips with the church, he’s never felt accepted by the other teens in that small group and didn’t mind-- but it’s nighttime. Which means sleeping.

Which means sleepwalking.

Phil seems to pick up on that anxiety almost immediately.  _ Maybe it’s his magic?  _ Ranboo wonders, as Phil rests his hands on Ranboo’s shoulder when he’s trying to distract himself by looking at some of the photos on the wall.

He sees Tommy and Wilbur grow up. Baby Tommy had an incredibly big head, and it looks like Wilbur has always had the mess of curly hair. It doesn’t seem like Phil ages, much, and there aren’t any family photos with Technoblade in them.

“You doing okay, Ranboo?” Phil asks. 

There’s something that tells Ranboo to  _ lie, to hide,  _ to bury it down. But he doesn’t.

“Not really.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Ranboo shrugs. “I don’t suppose, um, the bedroom doors lock from the other side, do they?”

There is a brief second, when Phil looks down at Ranboo, and his face is… incredulous. Incredulously horrified, if that would be possible. Or maybe just a look of concerned, confused shock. It’s gone quickly, but the expression burns into his memories. It’s not like the other concerned looks he’s sent Tommy or Tubbo or even Ranboo (that he can remember), it’s something else entirely. 

_ Why? _

“Ah, no, I don’t think so.” Phil says. “Is it about your sleepwalking?”

Ranboo nods. He knows how Phil knows. Either Tommy talked about it-- Ranboo remembers the day after he was grounded pretty well, he remembers talking to his two friends about why the grounding happened-- or Phil read it in his files, or Techno mentioned it when they were making dinner. Either way, he knows that the older man found out  _ somehow _ . 

He waits for the quick solution.  _ They’ll put something in front of the door, so I can’t get out of my room. They’ll find a way to magically lock it, maybe. They’ll find a way. _

Phil shrugs.

“Well… I’m a pretty light sleeper, Wil always stays up till, like, four in the morning, and Techno doesn’t really sleep, so you’ve got a few people in the house who will probably catch you up, and we’ll just get you back to your room or something.”

Oh. That’s not what Ranboo expected.

“I mean, unless you would feel more comfortable… with something in front of your door?” Phil quirks an eyebrow, but his face isn’t curious. It’s the concerned look. It’s strange that Ranboo is able to remember that look so well. 

And it’s strange that he’s… being given a choice.

“I… I don’t know.” He says. He glances back up at the photos.  _ Will I ever be in a photo on this wall, too?  _ “My room back at the orphanage--” He lowers his voice on  _ orphanage,  _ it’s still strange to say aloud. “--it locked from the outside, and my, um. Caregivers would lock it when they went to bed.”

He’s incredibly lucky he’s never had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He’s  _ incredibly lucky  _ he’s never had to deal with that.

Phil nods. Ranboo doesn’t see his face, but it’s probably still got the same concern on his face.

“They were heavy sleepers, and I got outside a few times, so it was really the only option.”  _ Especially since I haven’t been taken to any doctor about this, at all…  _ Ranboo adds mentally, but he doesn’t say it aloud. His hand goes up to the chain on his neck, and he tugs at it. “But. Um. If there’s gonna be people awake, I guess… I guess I’ll be okay?”

Phil nods. He squeezes Ranboo’s shoulder. It’s a bit of an awkward squeeze. 

“Alright, mate, I’ll tell you what.” He glances back towards the living room. Techno is reading a book in it, by the golden light of an antique lamp. “If you end up getting out somehow, we’ll find a way to get your door locked at night to keep you safe. But for now, someone will most likely be up to catch you, so we’ll leave it unlocked. Sound good?”

Ranboo nods.

It does sound good. It was what it was like when the problem started-- minus someone catching him, of course, since all the Sisters were heavy sleepers. But if-- if his new family really had awful sleeping schedules, if he was found sleepwalking, they could just guide him back to his room. Or somewhere to lay down, really. Stop him from sleepwalking. Keep him safe, without locking the door.

When he goes to bed that night he prays to God that it’ll stay that way for a little bit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE IT'S DONE IT'S _DONE_
> 
> Hi friends! I've missed you. It's been a good week or so, hasn't it?  
> To put it simply, midterms suck. This chapter was a bit of a rough one, too, but I got through it! These next few chapters will probably satisfy the domestic family dynamics y'all have been waiting for B)
> 
> Good luck in the guesses for everyone's magic. A few people have gotten Techno right, but I don't know if you guys will get Wilbur's or Phil's right until they're revealed. All will come in due time for that, of course... :)  
> Also Phil PLEASE take Ranboo to a sleep doctor now that you've got custody of him, PLEASE. Yeah, this is me, begging my own story, since I hardly have any creative control except for a few things whenever the spirit of this story possesses me to write. Hopefully it happens, even if it's off-screen. 
> 
> I hope everyone here had a wonderful February, and we're about to have an amazing March, I just know it! :D See you guys in the next chapter which hopefully won't take this long but who knows ahahaha
> 
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	15. Mostly Fluffy Filler, But I Think We All Need This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol hope you guys have a few snacks this chapter is a lil' longer than the rest

It’s when he realizes that his neck is cramped up and awkwardly angled that he slowly begins to wake up. It’s stiff, and it definitely doesn’t feel like he’s on his bed anymore.

The sound of a bird-- a mourning dove, he recognizes, somehow-- also stirs him awake. He opens his eyes and.

He’s not in his bedroom.

Not even in the orphanage-- everything the day before had felt like a dream, no matter how many times he pinched himself and tried to ground himself, it was still  _ real _ and  _ not a dream.  _ Which was nice, for once, especially after the bizarre dream he had a week ago.

But it wasn’t even the  _ new _ bedroom he had, at his new house, with his new family.

No, he was awkwardly laying on the couch in the living room.

Early-morning sunlight gently cuts through the windows, sending golden rays to the ground. The couch is just too small for him to be lying on, but his legs are tucked up and his head is awkwardly laying atop a throw pillow, and there’s a soft blanket thrown over his body.

Ah.

He must’ve-- he must’ve sleepwalked, again. But this time he didn’t end up waking up outside in the morning dew, or somewhere awkward, like the bathtub, or end up hurting himself. This time, he had been guided-- he assumed-- to lay down somewhere else.

He wonders who did it.

He sits up too quickly. There’s a sore feeling in his neck, most definitely from the pillow on the couch he was just a little too tall to be sleeping on. Massaging it gently makes it a little less intense, but he’ll probably notice it irritated throughout the morning. 

He stretches his arms. They pop a little bit as he does so, but it feels a little better. It helps wake him up a bit more. No one else is in the living room, but he hears someone in the kitchen, and Ranboo awkwardly stands to follow the noise.

“Good morning, Ranboo.” Phil greets him. He’s got a cup of coffee in one hand, and he’s  _ still  _ looking through some paperwork from the orphanage. Sister Agnes was very detail-oriented, it seems. “Sleep well?”

He shrugs, a bit. The rest of the house is quiet. It  _ is _ a Wednesday-- Tommy and Wilbur were probably at school, he assumes. It was eight. “I guess. I sleepwalked, though.”

Phil nods. “Wil said he found you staring at the pantry at about two this morning.”

Ranboo wonders why he would go to the pantry first-thing, but he wonders a lot of things. Like,  _ why is there suffering in the world?  _ And,  _ if God forgives all sin, why do we have to go to confession?  _ Especially,  _ what in the world happens when I sleepwalk?  _

Well, the answer seems to be he’s hungry. It’s about the time the orphanage would have breakfast together, after all, but he doesn’t know how it works at his new home yet.

“Feel free to make yourself whatever,” Phil adds. “We’ve got some cereal, eggs, toast, I can cook up some bacon or sausages if you really want some of those, too.”

“Cereal sounds fine.” He says. He doesn’t want to ask Phil to cook something up if he’s already focused on something. Squinting a bit, he can tell it’s his school records. Probably incredibly entertaining to read, which is why Phil definitely has the cup of coffee with him.

It’s a different mug from last night. This one looks like a frog.

They do have a wide array of cereals, from sugary sweet monstrosities that Ranboo can only imagine Tommy eating, to more boring, stale cereals like raisin bran, which he imagines Technoblade having and he can’t help but stifle a chuckle at. There’s a box of rice krispies, which as plain as it sounds, is the only option Ranboo can recognize other than the boring ones, so he grabs it and finds a yellow bowl.

They have two kinds of milk, too, apparently. He grabs the two percent. He doesn’t know what coconut milk tastes like and he isn’t in a particularly daring mood that morning, especially when the little stabbing pain in his neck pops up to remind Ranboo of its existence.

He sits at the chair across from Phil. He doesn’t have anything to look at, so he focuses on the back of the rice krispies box, where there’s an unfinished word hunt. A few words had been circled in thick sharpie, but it wasn’t finished.

Phil speaks up, first. 

“What was homeschooling like for you, Ranboo?” 

“Oh, um.” He pauses. “It was fine, I guess. Sister Agnes says-- said that public school is full of temptations.” Ranboo replies.

Phil hums.

“I-- I don’t  _ agree _ , with her. Obviously. But it’s all I know, so.” He takes a breath. “Most of it was on my own, anyway. They would give me work, and I would finish it by the end of the day.”

“Interesting.” Phil says. 

“Why?”

“Just figuring some things out.” He responds. “Tommy and Wilbur are both going to the local high school, but I don’t want to throw you right into it, especially in the middle of the semester. You’re also… behind, in a few subjects.”

That makes Ranboo perk up. He was… he was  _ behind?  _ He thought he was ahead, with how much work the nuns would give him. But maybe, in just a single day’s hindsight, it makes a little sense he was a little behind in subjects-- they had control over everything. More emphasis was put on religious history than actual american history, and none of the sisters were particularly big on any of the sciences.

“Ah.”

“Nothing you can’t get caught up with, of course.” Phil adds, glancing up. He pushes some of his loose hair back nervously. Now that Ranboo gets a closer look, the older man has most of his hair pushed out of his face with a headband. “Would you… want to go to public school?”

He’s heard the horror stories-- from the nuns and from his friends. Of bullies and mean teachers and gym class locker rooms and  _ drugs _ and  _ sex,  _ and, well. Ranboo isn’t particularly interested in most of that, in all honesty. If he had no other choice, he’d find a way to deal, he thinks, just like everything that’s been thrown at him in life.

His response is a shrug.

“Techno suggested we enroll you in online school until the end of the semester, at least, what do you feel about that? It wouldn’t be too different from what you said homeschooling was like, except I wouldn’t be giving you work, it would be an online teacher. For the most part, too, you can go at whatever pace you need.” 

Hm.

That sounded  _ much _ better than public school. For now, at least.

_ If I’m actually behind, it’s probably better,  _ Ranboo thinks.

Phil grins. He reads Ranboo  _ too well.  _ “Alright, well, you’ll probably start sometime later next week then, yeah?”

“Sure.” Fine by him. A bit of a break would be nice. It would be like a mini summer vacation!

Except it’s not summer. And he never got any sort of break for anything, except for Easter and the week of Christmas to New Years. 

But it’s like a mini summer vacation, and he’ll take it.

There’s a moment of silence, of Phil enjoying his cup of coffee and Ranboo finishing the bowl of cereal, a moment of peace, before Techno walks in through the back door.

For one, he’s covered in a considerable amount of blood. Not his own blood, Ranboo can tell. It looks more like what dreamons are made of, except something in Ranboo’s brain recognizes it (and the unfortunate putrid smell) as blood. Phil doesn’t even blink at it.

“Phil, you won’t believe the morning I’ve had.” Techno reaches into the freezer and grabs what looks like a microwaveable breakfast thing, but it’s tossed too quickly into the microwave for Ranboo to see exactly what it is.

Techno stops. Looks at Ranboo. “Oh, good morning, Ranboo.” 

Ranboo nods at him in response, trying to stay considerably calm with the blood-soaked man in front of him. At least it wasn’t Techno’s blood.

“Anyway.” Techno turns back to Phil. “Got a message this morning that a dreamon was spotted near the supermarket from Niki, so I went to go check it out. Turns out it wasn’t just one dreamon, it was a bunch of little ones.”

“How many?” Phil asks, his eyes widening ever so slightly. He brings the mug up to his mouth to take a sip. He looks deeply invested.

Ranboo is, too, but he looks at the back of the cereal box to not look at the literal blood-covered man standing in the kitchen. 

The microwave beeps. Techno opens the microwave and grabs-- oh, it’s a hot pocket-- and takes a bite of it without hesitation. He shrugs. 

“Lost count at about thirty-two.” He wolfs down the hot pocket incredibly fast. Wasn’t it supposed to be incredibly hot straight out of the microwave? Ranboo can’t help but be in  _ awe.  _ He glances down at his clothes. “Guess I’m doing laundry again.”

“I put my sheets in not too long ago, but they should be done soon.” Phil says. 

Techno groans, and goes into the freezer to grab another hot pocket. 

The conversation turns away from the blood-soaked man into the kitchen and back to Ranboo, with just one look towards him. “So, Ranboo, are you up for a little shopping trip today?”

Well, it wasn’t like Ranboo has anything else to do. If he’s going to have a break before Phil can work out the online-class thing, then what else should he do? Stare at the wall in his room, listen to the music on his phone for a few hours? 

“I mean, I don’t know what else I’d do today. So, sure.”

“Techno, want to join?”

“I’ll pass.” The pink-haired man said. He was running his fingers through it. The gross dreamon-blood had soaked that, too, but he was careful about making too much of a mess in the kitchen, at least. He sighs. “I’m going to need to take a long bath.” 

* * *

Ranboo has never been to  _ the mall _ before. He’s heard it thrown around, of course, by Tommy and Tubbo, over the summer. It was the only mall in an hour’s drive near them, and despite the death of shopping centers like it, most stores survived through anything. They could probably survive the apocalypse, or maybe there was a little magical influence. He didn’t know.

But it was just a place to go shopping. He’d never been too materialistic, he was thankful for any clothes he got, but sometimes he would see a cool shirt on his walks and wonder if he’d ever be able to buy something that cool instead of wearing hand-me-down polos and t-shirts from the families of his caregivers, since he had grown at an awkward length so quickly. 

He feels a little ostracized walking into the mall. Phil is just in a plain t-shirt and jeans, with his hair pulled back out of his face. Ranboo is wearing a faded gray polo, a sweater with sleeves a little too short for him, and jeans that have one-too-many patches in them.

“You didn’t come with much, huh?” Phil asks, pulling out his phone. There’s a little list on it, of some basics--  _ new pants, new shirts, underwear, room decorations? _ , but all of the stuff on the list is up in the air.

Ranboo shrugs. He tries to awkwardly dig his hands into his pockets, but it makes him feel even more awkward. “Most of my clothes were, um, hand-me-downs, so.”

“Have you ever been shopping?”

Ranboo shakes his head. “Only grocery shopping.”

He laughs at that. “Well, this is going to be a long day, huh?”

_ I’m sorry,  _ Ranboo wants to say, but the tone of Phil’s voice tells him  _ it’s okay, I’m ready,  _ which is a nice change of pace from the impatient tones of the sisters back at the orphanage. 

The mall is big, and has a lot more people than he would expect on a school day. Maybe some of the teens were ditching, skipping class, for whatever reason, but most were families, shopping last-minute Columbus Day sales. 

There are a lot of stores, the giant building has three stories, and Ranboo wouldn’t even know where to start. The mannequins in the store window seem a little too intimidating, styles he could never imagine emulating in his life, other things catching his eye or two.

The shopping was really the background, though, the action of the day. What Ranboo really remembers more is how Phil filled up the awkward silence between them.

“So, what do you like to do in your free time, Ranboo?” Phil asks, as Ranboo looks through a rack of shirts at one random teen fashion store. He wasn’t particularly interested in anything, but there was a hoodie in the window that he liked a lot, and he might as well try and find  _ something _ else to go with the hoodie.

(The hoodie had spines on the arm and a cartoon dinosaur on it. One that he could never get while at the orphanage, but Phil caught him staring and dragged him into the store.)

“Um, read, I guess.” He replies. The memories of him sneaking books in the library come back to mind. “I, um. Couldn’t read much because my caregivers monitored everything we had, but I would sneak in a few pages of books when we went to the library and write the page number down on my hand, so I could come back to them later.”

Phil laughs.

It’s not as heart as the one before. It’s a little… sadder, if that was a proper word to use.

“Smart kid.” He says. “Beating the system, huh?”

“I… I guess.” He didn’t do it to rebel on purpose. He just wanted to read  _ The Hunger Games _ (which, he realizes, he forgot what page he was on and he never finished it) and other books the nuns would never have let him have because they seemed so  _ interesting _ and tantalizing. And maybe it was a little bit of rebellion. Of what he could do.

They move onto another clothing store, only leaving the first one with the hoodie and a pair of black jeans that Ranboo liked a lot.

“I’m sure you’ve already figured this out by now, but.” Phil says, breaking the silence again, as they look through more plain clothes at a different store. It’s the men’s section this time, not a teen store, but there’s a bit of summer style on clearance and some of the brightly patterned, gaudy button-ups are incredibly tempting to Ranboo. “I’m thinking you might have a magical gift, too.”

“I… Yeah. You aren’t subtle about that.” Ranboo gives him a small smile. “What… Why do you think that? Also-- can we even talk about this in public?”

“No one ever pays attention to what you talk about in public, Ranboo.” Phil shrugs. “And, well. Most people with magical gifts, like our family and the community… There’s some sort of emotional aspect to it, I don’t know if I can explain it very well.”

Ranboo nods, pulling out one of the gaudy print button ups. This one has sailboats on it. 

“I guess it’s like, you know it when you feel it, and being around magic helps settle a lot of negative feelings? Like, you walk into a place and you feel like you’re immediately welcomed.”

He thinks on that, for a second. The feeling he got, those first steps into the new house. Yes, it made sense. It made sense-- magic, Ranboo supposes. 

“I think I get it.” 

“Okay, cool. And, well. Wilbur knows this trick to learn what type of magical gift you might have, do you want to try it later?”

“Um, sure?” Not like he had anything left to lose-- not to mention, the thought of it made Ranboo feel… a little giddy.

He’s all but squashed the little voice in the back of his head saying that all this magic was demonic and evil. Ranboo thinks he’s a good judge of character-- maybe he’s a poor judge of character, and it truly is demonic and even and Satanic-- and he’s read the bible back-to-front and front-to-back and even upside down, and it says to love your neighbors.  _ Love your neighbors, _ love everyone as you would  _ yourself,  _ and that includes magical neighbors, right?

He thinks so. A lot of scripture is based on how one interprets it on their own, really. But it seems like Sister Agnes’ motivations of burning his--

Burning his--

_ No, don’t wanna think about that-- _

It seems like Sister Agnes’ motivations were more led by the dreamon than anything else. And Techno killed that dreamon. The dreamons were the real demons, and if God created those, too, purposely or a human created them inadvertently, he would hope that people would be given gifts to protect themselves from those creatures as well, right?

Rationalization. Maybe a bit of cognitive dissonance. Ranboo doesn’t know, but it doesn’t feel like he’s doing anything wrong at all. So unless he’s so incredibly deep in  _ sin and evil and death _ that he can’t tell what he’s doing, Ranboo thinks magic is okay.

And maybe it’ll explain things. His poor memory. His face blindness. His sleepwalking.

“What do you mean, what ‘type’?” The phrasing sticks out to Ranboo the most. He grabs another awful-looking button up. This one has pineapples on it. He wants it. 

“There’s a bit of diversity to magic, you see.” Phil explains, as he’s handed the two awful-looking button ups by Ranboo. He winces at the patterns, but doesn’t seem to judge too much further than that. Maybe in his own head. “Everyone has a gift, whether it’s more magical or mundane, and there’s also magical techniques and tricks that you can learn. Not like phony magicians, but learned magic exists as well.”

_ Huh, cool. _

“The gifts tend to come in a few different… kinds, I guess. There’s more elemental-gifts, like fire, water, earth, air, light, darkness-- and not evil darkness, just the opposite of light, like your shadow…” He points down at the small shadow behind Ranboo as a result of the lighting in the store. “...Or mind or matter, which are different mental and physical gifts.”

“Ah. That’s a lot. I’m probably going to forget most of that.”

“Don’t worry, if you forget, I’ll be happy to remind you.” Phil gives him a smile. “Anyway. You don’t have to, but it’ll also figure out if you have a magical gift or not, so it’s worth a shot.”

“Yeah… Sure. I’ll do it.”

“Cool, I’ll let Wil know.” 

They get a few more pairs of pants and a few more shirts-- including a good few gaudy button ups that Phil looks a little disappointed in Ranboo for picking out, but he can’t just  _ not _ get those now that he has the ability to-- before they move onto another store.

This time it’s furniture.

Ranboo doesn’t think he needs much else, though Phil seems determined to get him at least a desk and a bookshelf for the room, and anything else that Ranboo can use to decorate the already plain room. 

The furniture store is huge, taking up a good bit of the mall in total and stretching out into a larger second-floor. 

He does find a desk, one that Phil says will look good with his dresser, and a simple desk chair that spins. Ranboo spins in it at the store for probably a little too long, but it’s fun, and it’s definitely something he can see himself doing more in the future. The desk has a little shelf on it for books to go on, too, but Phil also finds a small shelf thing that barely goes up to Ranboo’s knee, with space to put books and other future belongings. It’s small enough that it could be put on top of his dresser, if they moved the painting over it.

Nothing else comes out of the trip to that store.

After that, they stop at the food court for lunch, but elect to eat outside.

“So, um.” Ranboo clears his throat. “How many… how many people have magic? In this town?” 

He’s heard the word  _ community _ thrown around a lot. He can’t help but be a little curious.

“Eh, a good amount.” Phil shrugs. “I don’t know the numbers, exactly. But we all know each other, because magic is one of the things that unites us easily.”

Ah. He looks down at his sandwich. He wonders how many people he’s encountered, in their small town, who have had magic and he didn’t know.

He wonders.

“Alright, well, it looks like that’s the last of the list,” Phil comments, as they toss their lunches away outside. They’ve got a decent amount of bags, but they made a trip back to the car to not have to worry about carrying it all through the mall before they got lunch. “Hey, you said you like to read, right, Ranboo?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Okay, make that one more stop.” Phil grins. 

“What?”

“You’ll like this.”

And Ranboo does.

It’s a bookstore.

He’s been only in the library before, peeking through pages of books he isn’t supposed to touch, with a watchful eye out for his caregivers, constantly flickering up to check. Little rebellions, small enough to hardly be counted, but important nonetheless.

But here? He feels free. He feels free to pick up whatever book he wants, and Phil hangs out in the cafe, ordering a coffee, while he wanders through the shelves.

And, well. If Ranboo ends up leaving the bookstore an hour later with a membership card and ten books, that’s no one’s business but his own. 

* * *

Ranboo blinks at Wilbur, sitting across from him. 

They’re in Phil’s office. It’s not the sort of office that he could ever imagine one of his old caregivers in-- he should stop thinking about them so much, a part of him says, even though they were raising him for most of his life, even if he can’t remember it that well-- just like any other part of the house. It’s a mixture of antique and modern, with books that look like they should be in museums and a rather strange romance novel placed cover-out with a man on the cover that has striking similarities to Phil.

But it’s open. The door is usually left open, unlike Sister Agnes’ office, and it feels welcoming. It feels like Ranboo can just walk in and not get in trouble. The comfortable chair in the corner looks much more plush than the one he barely remembers in Sister Agnes’ office. 

They’re sitting on the carpet in Phil’s office with the door shut. Doing magic.

The thought, the idea-- it makes a bit of Ranboo’s skin crawl. He has to remind himself that he’s not going to get in trouble, nothing is going to get burned (hopefully), he has to remind himself that he’s okay.

Wilbur glances up, shuffling the deck of cards. It isn’t a tarot deck-- not that Ranboo really knows what that is to begin with, but it’s a deck of only eight cards, each with their own symbol drawn out in a beautifully illustrative design that Ranboo could stare at forever if he wanted to.

“Ayup.” Wilbur says, clearing his throat. The eight cards are shuffled. “Dunno how much Phil told you, but this is basically how we figure out what kind of magic someone has.”

He holds up one card. There’s a fish-person-- a mermaid?-- floating in water with a harp. The word water is beautifully inscribed on the top of the card. 

“Eight cards. Eight types of magic you can have.” He puts the card back into the pile, shuffles again. It’s hardly a shuffle with the little amount of cards, but it’s the only way to describe the action that Wilbur is doing.

Ranboo nods. Eight types of magic, he repeats, in his head, to hopefully not forget.

(He’ll have to write it down after this, of course, so he doesn’t forget.)

“It doesn’t tell you specifically what type of magic you’ll have.” Wilbur adds. He straightens the deck, before stretching out the cards in his hands to look like a fan. The back of the cards are facing up so Ranboo can’t see any of the beautiful illustrations, but that’s the point.

Wilbur reaches into the cup that he had brought, pulling out the salt and sprinkling it out on the cards. There’s a flash of light akin to a firecracker, and all the cards begin to glow a soft, pale blue color.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Wilbur’s eyes are glowing-- no, not glowing. They’re sparkling, with the same magical pale blue color as the cards. “A friend taught me this ol’ technique.” He smirks.

Ranboo nods-- he’s starstruck by the magic in front of him. Just seeing Tommy and Tubbo use their magic, and now this-- it’s pretty, pretty damn neat. 

There’s a part of him that hopes he has magic, too. It’s a long shot, but everyone seems to think that Ranboo has something magical inside of him. With everything that has happened-- being more at ease around magic, being able to feel it more than a normal person should-- it makes sense why they would assume Ranboo had some sort of magic, even if it was only a little bit, even if it was only a sensitivity to magic. 

To have a magical gift? That would be very neat to Ranboo. He can’t think of any other interesting words, he’s too transfixed by it all happening to think so.

“Now, the way this works…” Wilbur flaps the cards in his hands. The blue energy glows along with it. “You’ll pick a card. The card will say what magic you have. If the card is completely blank, you don’t have magic. All you gotta do is pick a card and see.”

“Any card?”

“You’re supposed to go with what your heart says, according to Niki, but.” Wilbur shrugs. “Just pick a card, don’t think about it too much.” 

Ranboo nods. He looks at the cards. Do any of them stick out to him too much?

Don’t think about it, a small voice in the back of his head says. Right, right. Don’t think about it. He looks at the cards and the one at the very left seems to be sticking out a little bit more, so he grabs that one. In the process, he accidentally pulls two cards out.

“Oh, sorry.” Ranboo says, the card falling on the floor.

“You’re good, man.” Wilbur gives him a warm grin. He doesn’t go to pick up the card. “Flip over your card.”

Ranboo nods.

His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. There is so much happening-- and he can only imagine the way that Tommy and Tubbo are scrunched up against the closed office door, leaning their ears on the wood, trying to hear what is going on in the process. 

His family will love him no matter what, he knows. He hasn’t used the word family much to refer to this group of people who have adopted him, except in hypotheticals. His new family. His new home. Nothing has settled in yet. Maybe it never will.

Either way, whether or not Ranboo has a gift, it doesn’t matter, because they will love him all the same.

(Maybe Ranboo will be upset, and a little jealous, that he wasn’t born with a gift, but he’s been reassured that he can learn magic, too, apparently.)

He flips over the card.

It’s not black. Instead, it’s got an illustration of a man with three eyes. MIND is written in calligraphy at the top of the card.

Mind. Ranboo stares at the card, transfixed by the man with three eyes, when a small gasp of air from Wilbur catches his attention. He glances up.

“What?”

Wilbur points at the card that Ranboo accidentally knocked out of his hand. It’s glowing, too, just like the Mind card is in Ranboo’s hand. The other cards in Wilbur’s hands have gone dark.

“All the cards are supposed to go dark once you pick the card, unless…” He picks the fallen card up slowly. It’s blank, but it’s still glowing. 

The colors have shifted. Where the mind card had begun to glow a soft lime color, the mystery card’s glow was shifting iridescently. 

“Hold it.” Wilbur pushes it into Ranboo’s other hand, he doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. The card’s shifting glow settled into a warm red, and the blank card melted into a design.

Matter. It’s a strongman, like one would see in a circus, but more of a vintage circus. Not one of the modern ones that Ranboo has heard stories of. 

“...What?”

“I mean, it’s happened before.” Wilbur says, looking at the two cards with Ranboo. “More often than you think, really.”

“What has? What’s… what does this mean?”

“Well, you’ve got two cards. Two different types of magic.” Wilbur holds up two fingers. He sets them down on the two cards, and the glowing stops. The images remain. “You’ve got two gifts, Ranboo.”

Two? He had been hoping-- no, Ranboo had been praying for one. One miniscule gift, something that he could have, because it would be really cool to have. Everyone has wished for a magical gift or superpower before, and with this world Ranboo is in, of course he would pray for something, anything, but not big, or spectacular. Yet, here he was, with two cards in front of him.

“It could just be, like. A small gift. Maybe you’re a little bit faster than other people, or you can do math better.” The man across from him adds as he picks up the two cards. “We thought for a while that Tommy had two gifts because he moves so quickly, but he doesn’t sit down for long enough to do this card shit, so we’ve practically given up.” Wilbur pulls himself off the ground, grabbing the small cup of salt. He sets it on Phil’s desk, and puts the card stack next to it.

“Oh. Okay.”

Wilbur stretches out an arm-- and Ranboo takes it. It’s almost too easy for him to pull Ranboo up, but Ranboo is pretty lanky and light for his height, so not unexpected. He glances down at his hands.

Two gifts? What-- what could that even mean?

“The only way to find out is to wait n’ see.” Wilbur replies, as if he read Ranboo’s thoughts. No, wait, Ranboo said them all aloud again, didn’t he? He probably did. “But hey, you can brag to everyone you’ve got two gifts, Tommy will be so upset it’s gonna be fucking hilarious.”

He didn’t like the idea of bragging about it, especially because-- well, they didn’t know much else, except for the sorts of magical gifts Ranboo has. They only knew the type of gift, now. Mind and matter. And they could be-- they could be anything, from running a little faster, maybe having better stamina, or being good at math, like Wilbur said. It could be anything.

“Alright, they’ve been waiting at the door too long.” Wilbur sighs. “You can open the door now, Toms.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then the doorknob turns, and the old oak door creaks open.

Tommy and Tubbo were standing at the door, probably listening in the whole time. 

“Alright, big man, we’ve got some bets to win.” Tommy says loudly, grabbing Ranboo by the wrist and dragging him out of the office and into the hallway. Tubbo has a similar devilish look to his face. 

“You-- you bet on me?”

“In all fairness, other than the occasional dreamon attack, there isn’t anything new usually happening in the community.” Tubbo deadpans. He blinks. 

Well, okay. Ranboo supposes that’s okay. 

“Now, let me guess…. Fire.” Tommy says.

“Um, no? I can just--”

“No, no, I got this…” Tommy rubs his temples, his eyes digging into Ranboo’s soul. He doesn’t have any mental powers. Nothing is going to work, but he has a one-in-seven chance to guess it right, now. “L..Light.”

“It feels like you’re trying to guess his Pokemon type.” Tubbo adds, crossing his arms. 

“No, it’s--”

“Water! Like Wilbur!” Tubbo interjects, forgetting his previous statement and joining in on the fun.

“No. And wait, what?” He glances back to Wilbur, who smirks before disappearing away from them down the hall. He still doesn’t have a concrete explanation of everyone’s magic-- and that is something he would expect to remember at least a little bit.

“Hm.” Tubbo scratches his chin. “Wait. If you were more elemental, we would’ve seen more signs by now, so you’re probably a mind or a matter!”

Ah, well. He was, technically, right.

“Actually… Yeah.”

Tubbo grinned, punching his hand into the air. “Sweet! Big T, you owe me twenty bucks now!”

“You didn’t guess which one, though!”

“No, Tubbo was right.” Ranboo raises his voice to cut in before either of his friends could get into more of a debate over his magical gifts. “Apparently, I’ve got… two. Both mind and matter.”

“Whoa, that’s so cool!” Tubbo says.

“That isn’t fuckin’ fair!” Tommy screams.

This is exactly what Ranboo expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 5,600 words and there was going to be more but I cut it off because this chapter is 5.6k WORDS--
> 
> Well, my research says that the best thing to do with a sleepwalker is to either lock the door or guide them back into bed. Wilbur clearly didn't take Ranboo back to his bedroom, but it was also two in the morning, the couch was closer, what can I say? Also I love the morning interaction with Techno so much. Imagine enjoying a bowl of cereal and your adopted older brother (?) walks into the kitchen looking like he just got off the set of The Shining's elevator scene. That's wack.
> 
> Anyway, let's talk about development and exposition! I don't want to be too world-dumpy in these chapters because, well that isn't always fun to read and I know that. And I don't want Ranboo to be particularly sitting down at a table or something for some Magic Lessons with Mr. Philza Minecraft, so I figured, "why not just have them talk about it on their mall trip?" and thus that middle scene was born. It's a bit longer and doesn't have as many breaks in it, but I think it flows better without them. If I don't end up liking it without breaks I will go back and add that in, so if you're reading this note and see a lot of little breaks in the story, YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.
> 
> Why is Ranboo me whenever I go to Barnes & Noble? Don't ask. If you're curious, he's got a good selection of books. I know American Gods by Neil Gaiman is on there, and so is The Hunger Games. Other books he's picked up, I'll leave to your imagination _even though I totally don't have a list of books he probably got, what, I don't know what you mean......._
> 
> Also, yup, more MAGIC LORE!! I've been waiting to drop this on y'all for weeks! I've had this figured out since the BEGINNING. Cause, like, yeah, we know all the elements, but what about light and shadow, too? And then I thought, well, what about abilities like Tubbo's, that's not an element. So that's where Mind and Matter come in-- they're broader categories, mind is all the abilities that are more mental, like empathy or dreamwalking, while matter is more physical abilities, like Tubbo's, being super strong and durable. If that makes sense. But these are just for gifts-- there's learned magic, too, which isn't that strong, either, but it's funky little tricks like with the cards, or maybe other things too you might've seen somewhere or not who knows ;)
> 
> _Wow, Ranboo, GOD lets you have TWO MAGIC GIFTS?_ Okay, yeah I'll see myself out hahaha--
> 
> Anyway. Hope you guys enjoyed THIS LONG CHAPTER. There's more fun stuff to come. Not all fluffy stuff, unfortunately, but the show must go on, unfortunately :)


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